


The Eternal Hunt

by Blu_Fuzzyhat



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Vampire McCullum, Vampire Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-07-11 13:38:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15973421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blu_Fuzzyhat/pseuds/Blu_Fuzzyhat
Summary: Loathing the creature he has become, Geoffrey struggles with his new un-life.  Between the thirst and keeping his nature a secret from his men, the hunter faces a new enemy that threatens London and her citizens.





	1. A Night With The Guard

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I am new to the site, but I have been lurking around and enjoying many of the works. This project is pretty basic, but I just wanted to get it out. It will be subjected to be edited so constructive criticism would be appreciated. Enjoy!
> 
> Also I am not one for writing the intimate relationship type stories, I leave that up to the other fine writers on here. ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a vampire sucks when you hunt them.

 

 

Ecstasy.  A fleeting emotion of blissful origins that many would find addictive; constantly after it by all means necessary to satisfy their craving.  To some, such a feeling could break a person’s humanity; turning them into more of a slave to their desires.  A shadow of their former self; a beast in a human guise that bares its teeth when faced with the constant hunger.

The hunger.  It has been a constant companion to the leader of the Guard of Priwen, Geoffrey McCullum, for several weeks now and he hated it.  “Shit…” stated the hunter, gritting his teeth in disgust while the smell of burning dead flesh mingled with the taste of blood in the back of his throat.  Rubbing the bristles of a beard with a sleeve of a coat, the man did what was possible to rid the blood from his mouth and lips; making use of a water canteen.  It did little.  The water washed away the tormenting taste, and the gore yearning fangs waned, but his hands were still caked with the drying red liquid.  “My God,” he said, looking around in disgust as reality set back in.  “What has become of me?” 

A gruesome scene of a decrepit alley; war and flu propaganda lined walls, painted crimson.  Its cobblestone laid path blocked by a pile of burning corpses sitting in a pool of blood and water.  In the dancing flames, the hunter watched as the deformed faces of the ghoulish Skal creatures begin charring from the heat.  Once human, these primitive creatures were the result of terrible circumstances, plaguing the city with their unnatural hunger that could only be cured by being destroyed.  Therefore, the Guard of Priwen answered the call with a single goal: to purge the city of these vile creatures.

Geoffrey rumbled with discontent.  Using the remaining water in the canteen to wash the blood off his hands, the hunter searched about the alleyway, before the glinting metal of his sword caught his eye.  Laying in a pile of debris, with little gore on the blade, it was quick to remind the Irishman of what he once was, a human that hunted such beasts; as well as the creature he has become, a blood drinking immortal. 

Cleaning off the weapon, the man scanned the melancholic scene once more.  Insuring nothing was still alive, he sheathed the blade and retreated the city’s shadows to continue his hunt.

 

The night was still young for the vampire hunter.  The chill of London’s winter air bothered him little these days, prowling among the rooftops of the disarrayed Poplar district; keeping watch over some of his men that patrolled below as they passed by the now abandoned Pembroke Hospital.  Fallen into an eerie silence, since the death of its administrator and the flight of the vampire doctor, the building and its former residents had fallen victim to a vicious creature in recent weeks.  Eventually, the Guard stepped in after reports of missing people and murders increased in the area.

While he stood watch, thoughts raced across Geoffrey’s mind; while desperately trying to piece together his fractured memories of confronting the doctor atop of the hospital.  He could remember losing the fight to the creature, but everything became so splintered and misleading beyond that.  Waking to a massacre of rats the hunter fled the forsaken hospital in a grey haze; desperately trying to resist attacking anyone before the hunger could grasp him once again.

He was lucky that night.  Escaping down the dark alleys of the Whitechapel neighborhood, the Priwen leader stumbled upon a wondering Skal before the thirst became unbearable; attacking it before it even had the chance to react.  It was only after draining the creature of its blood and the rise of the grey haze that Geoffrey realized what he has become; sending him spiraling down a path full of remorse and shame.

How he ended up as the very creature he swore to destroy remained a mystery to him.  At times he almost wished he had asked the doctor that night in the cemetery, but their conversation was rushed. Too proud to deal with the mockery from that leech that it was better to keep his mouth shut and reap what he sow.  It was a real shame too.  For as much as Geoffrey despised the forsaken power he gained, fighting the doctor would have been much easier. 

Although, if he had slain the doctor, the city would still be crawling with infected Skals.  It would have left more work for the Guard and many innocents dead.  The thought of a lone doctor, a new born vampire just weeks old, defeating a Disaster with an antidote designed with such ridiculous ingredients was damn near farfetched, even for the hunter. 

However, so was believing a dead king’s blood would be enough to help stop the doctor.  King Arthur’s blood was supposed to help him during that fight, but despite the small boost it granted, McCullum still failed.  Perhaps he missed something when he read the collected texts the Guard kept?  He wasn’t even sure how they even came in possession of the renowned relic in the first place, but rumors claim that it was probably about as old as the stole of Saint Paul, one of the Brotherhood’s most precious of relics.  It was hard for the hunter to separate the facts from the fiction of stories that time has forgotten.

A commotion broke the leader from his thoughts.  A few streets away he could hear the voices of his men.  It would seem they caught the target.  Keeping out of sight, Geoffrey shadow jumped from the rooftop to a nearby alley; still feeling wrong using it, but it had its uses.  The man sighed, wondering what his mentor would have done.  Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, the hunter focused at the task at hand.

Trekking towards the sounds of the nearby Priwen guards, the hunter was soon discovered as a young cadet came around a street corner.  “McCullum! Sir!” he shouted, running to his commander.

“Speak up, cadet.  What is it?” spoke Geoffrey, rubbing the bristles on his face, insuring there wasn’t any dried blood still there.

“The leech, sir.  Lieutenant Woodbead and his men go her cornered.”

_Finally, some good news_.  With a confirmed nod, and the cadet at tow, Geoffrey made haste as they returned to their comrades.

Reaching the location of the fight, McCullum and the cadet were met with a daunting sight.  Half a squad of Priwen guards laid motionless on the ground while the remaining men surrounded a female leech; who was collapsed and restrained to a tree, her hospital gown stained with blood.  A few guards were aimed at her with crossbows and flamethrowers even though she seemed rather defeated now.

“Good job, boys,” said the hunter, smirking at the fish his men have caught; walking towards the group. “Well then, if it isn’t Miss Thelma Howcroft.”  The pale faced creature glared up at him with a pair of beastly eyes, red with blood with slits for her pupils.  A sight McCullum rarely seen.  “A time ago my men really thought of you were a leech, but it seems now that you have really become one.”

“Nonsense,” hissed Thelma.  “I have always been this; I have only been fooling you, mortals.”

“Then what drove you to slaughter half of that forsaken hospital, leech?”  McCullum walked up to the woman; seeing little to no humanity left in the undead husk.  “Tire of hiding?  Did someone piss you off?  Was it the doctor?”  Drawing steel from its scabbard, the man set the blade upon the creature’s throat.  “Speak!”

“What does it matter?  You will kill me no matter what answers I have for your pointless questions.”

“She is a mad one, sir,” stated a man that has seen a few fights, Andrew Woodbead, a brute of a lieutenant for a young man in his mid-twenties.  Baring the scars of war and gang violence, the former soldier’s past was as colorful as Geoffrey’s.  “Wouldn’t stop jabbering about a shadow whispering her dark thoughts before you arrived.”

“They are all mad, Woody.”  Geoffrey wondered how long he would last before going mad himself.  Hasn’t heard voices in his head, only the nightmares of his haunting childhood.  A chill went up his spine; still tasting the blood in his mouth.  “If you don’t answer, then I guarantee death will not be swift for you, Miss Howcroft.”

“Your threats are nothing to me, hunter.  The voice drove me to kill; from the shadows it laughed in absolute glee as I painted the walls of that dying hospital and surrounding homes in red.  No nurse, doctor, or patient was safe from my need for blood.  Kill me how you like, but know that the voice speaks of you.”

Raising an eyebrow, the hunter wasn’t convinced of the former mental patient’s words.  “Tell me Woody, how would you and your men like to have this beast die?  The honor is not mine to take.”

“The boys are itching to use their crossbows and flamethrowers,” said the brute, pulling down the scarf from his face, red from its warmth. “She would make for good practice.”

“Then have at it.”  Lowering the blade, McCullum grasped the female’s matted hair.  “Just answer me one thing, leech.  What of your Maker?”

“I don’t know his name,” whimpered the creature.  “A mad man.  Laughs from the shadows.”

“The only one that is mad, is you, leech.”  Releasing his grasp, the leaded made his leave of the group.  “Finish her off and then tend to the dead and wounded.  Take the rest of the night off then, boys.”

“Not going to stick around, sir?” asked Woodbead, narrowing his dark eyes at the ill-looking man.

“I have other matters to attend to, lieutenant.”  Without another word said, the hunter exited the area, and back out on the dark streets. 

 

A silence fell amongst the men after McCullum left.  The former soldier stared off to his commander in wonder.  There is was something off, but he could not put his finger on it.  Perhaps it was the bloodstained clothes?

“Lieutenant?” said a well armored cadet.  “Is everything alright?”

“For now,” said the brute.  Picking up a crossbow, the man approached the chained creature.  “Any last words, leech?”

“The shadows will come for you, mortals,” hissed the female.  “And I will laugh from my resting place when it does.”

“Right then,” stated the lieutenant as he stepped back from the tree.  “Have at it, boys.  First rounds will be on me afterwards.”

At an instance, the sound of crossbows triggering and the heat of the flames filled the air.  The shrill from the chained female were muffled among the chaos that took place.

 

Geoffrey could hear the shrill from several streets over.  Although he felt a sense of pride of his men’s success, he also had a sense of dread alongside it.  The thought of him being be destroyed in such a way by the Guard was enough to make him feel uneasy; he could still smell the bloodshed from his fallen men. 

Wondering through the streets, the hunter soon found himself outside Stonebridge Cemetery.  Weeks ago it was crawling with Skals, but as he walked its paths, only the silence of the dead loomed in the air.  It was to the point that he stopped sending his men to it for frequent cleansing of the filth; placing them in more dire areas across the city.  Only on the occasion when he visits his mentor’s grave that he may cross a leech or two; ending them quickly with his sword, if the thirst didn’t get to them first.

A growl escaped the man as he stepped closer to the familiar gravestone.  Frequently wondering what the dead man would have done in his shoes.  Would he have killed himself?  No.  Geoffrey tried that already.  Have his men destroy him?  Perhaps, but would his men really have the heart to kill their leader?  Priwen had a code of conduct when it came to such situations.  If a member of the Guard were to be turned, their death was to be swift, no matter who they were or their position.  A leech was a leech, no exceptions.

Staring down at the grave, the hunger began to rise once again.  He felt like a drug addict; constantly wanting a fix, and couldn’t stand it.  Geoffrey hated the feeling and how it was always there; waiting for him to give in.  “I know what you may think of me, Carl,” stated the hunter.  “I am a coward.  A weak and terrible leader for allowing this… disease to reside in me.”  Felt as though betraying both his mentor and the Guard, the man bared little remorse.  “I never wanted it, but I won’t lie about this… power.”

A shrill arise from the other side of the cemetery.  Breaking from the solitary chit-chat, McCullum left out another low growl.  “I’m sorry, Carl, but there is still so much to do.  Still too many beasts around to give up now.”  Shadow jumping to the upper tier of the cemetery, the hunter quickly perched himself atop a stone pillar; scanning the remaining cemetery below with his obtained vampire vision subconsciously.

Hating every aspect of the creature he has become, the man couldn’t help but admit that it made his job easier.  The strength, the speed, his reflexes; they all have been amplified.  If it wasn’t for the damn thirst and hiding from the sun, it wouldn’t be such a bad tradeoff.  Remembering what it has done to his family, Geoffrey constantly struggled to control himself from completely giving into the affliction.  Wielding it against the monsters rather than being a monster himself.

Looking across his surroundings, Geoffrey rested his eyes on a vessel of glowing red lurking about by the mausoleum.  With a toothy smirk across his face, the hunter locked on his target; leaping down to the path, swiftly moving amongst the tombstones, the man closed in.

A lone Skal was rattling the chained gate of the crypt when he arrived.  “Oi, leech!” yelled the pale face man as he stalked towards the deformed creature.  “It’s time to return you to the grave!”

Turning its attention from the gate, the Skal left out a shrill, staggering the hunter before it blinked into the shadows!

"Damn!” exclaimed Geoffrey; looking franticly about.  Such a creature would prove difficult for a small squad of his men, but for the hunter?  A mere nuisance.  With his blade drawn, the man stood ready.  “I am in no mood for such games, beast!”

A subtle sound something emerging from the shadows sent the hunter to swing in the direction from which it came from.  The blade was quick to connect to the Skal’s shoulder; blood splattering from the wound it created!  Another shrill came from the creature as it staggered back from the attack. 

The scent alone made McCullum’s gums throb as the set of fangs protracted; wanting to bite into the rich red liquid.  With teeth clinched he quickly swung the sword once more; beheading the creature where it stood.  Barely worth a fight, the creature fallen into a pile of bloody flesh; its fluids pooling beneath it.

The feeling of satisfactory was temporarily lived.  The gory pile whirled around the hunter’s senses as the world went grey again.  “Shit…”  Collapsing in place, Geoffrey released the sword; grasping the sides of his head.  His mouth was throbbing and swollen from yearning fangs; wanting to bite into flesh so badly.  “No!  No more tonight!”  Pounding his fist against the cobble stones, the man fought against the urge; breathing heavily, trying to clear his mind of such dangerous thoughts.

The blood constantly called to him.  From the rats to his own men, it was relentless.  For weeks he kept from killing a human; reluctantly feeding off the less fulfilling Skals when the urge was just too much.  It has forced him to hunt alone, away from the Guard, his family in a sense; fearing of being discovered or attacking them.  Fear of history repeating itself as he became a walking paradox!

Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, the hunter gathered his composure and blade.  His vision returning to normal and the throbbing his mouth subsided as well.  The sky was starting to lighten up, which meant that it was time to return back Priwen’s headquarters.  Hoping his men were done with their duties; the only thing the hunter hoped for, as he walked back to the safe haven, was not having to smell any more blood when he got there.

 

The headquarters in Whitechapel was rather quiet.  Geoffrey was mostly alone now that his men were wetting their whistles at a nearby tavern; wishing he could join in their victory.  It was just his body wouldn’t accept anything other than blood now.  It tested the hunter many a time when he had to refuse to join them.

Feeling the sun beginning to rise, the Priwen leader lumbered his way to his private quarters; locking the door behind him, to keep from being disturbed for the day.  Stripping to nothing more than his undershirt and trousers, Geoffrey took the time to clean up the dried blood from rest of his outerwear attire.  Before retiring for the day, he stood before the water basin and mirror; examining his face again for the hundredth time it seems. 

Aside from the semi-transparent skin and the dark circles around the eyes, he could still pass as a human, being thankful the hair on his face helped with the illusion as well.  His eyes were still the same color as they always been; making him wonder if consuming human blood has been the cause for the changing effect he has seen with the Ekon eyes.  Would his eyes change if he drank from a human too?  Shaking his head at the thought, the hunter made his way to his bed; feeling the sun through the covered over windows as he kneeled down for a quick bedtime prayer before crawling into bed for the day.

 

The same nightmare.  Ever since he was a child, Geoffrey has been haunted by it.  Always as a helpless child; seeing the corpse of his mother in the arms a creature that was once his father.  “Mamaí!?” he cried in shock, seeing the blood spilling from the woman’s torn throat.  “Mamaí!”

“No!  Look away Geoffrey!” yelled the creature, whose hands and face were stained with the woman’s blood.  “Dear God what have I done!?”  The look of regret over his father’s face was haunting.

“You killed my mamaí!”  Why was he alone in witnessing this?  Where was Ian?  Where was his brother when he needed him!?

“No, Son!” He could hear the familiar voice of his father.  “I didn’t mean for this to happen!”  Reaching out with a bloody hand, the creature’s eyes bore into his child’s stare.

“No!”  Looking away the younger Geoffrey covered his eyes, feeling the mental tug of the words being said.  Feeling something damp on his face, the boy looked down at his own hands.  Seeing blood staining them, he could hear a laugh echoed suddenly echoed in his head-

“-McCullum!”

 

Eyes shot open as oxygen returned to his lungs, the hunter sits up quickly, waking up to a dark room and a loud banging at his door.  “McCullum, sir!” called out the deep muffled voice of his lieutenant.  “Are you awake, Geoffrey?”

“Yes!”  Sweat covered the pale man’s forehead and his fangs were extended once again.  “Give me a moment…”

“Yes, sir, but I suggest to do so in haste, we have a peculiar visitor.”

_A visitor?_ Upon getting up, the hunter was quick to splash water in his face; pushing the hungering thoughts to the back of his mind once again.  While getting dressed for the night, the fangs retracted to a more normal appearance and he could walk among his men with fewer worries as he exited his room.  Using his fingers to comb back his hair, the Irishman could hear plenty of murmuring coming from the courtyard as he walked down the hallway.  He noted the rather agitated state of the voices.  What could have his men on edge this early in the evening?

Exiting the building, McCullum is met with the most unusual sight.  A rather dark skinned woman; dressed in rather fancy clothes that he has only seen in the West End area of the city.  She sported a badge on her person that he recognized to belong to those of the Suffragette groups.  He knew of this woman, but so did his men.  They had their pistols and crossbows aimed as though she was vampire.  “What is this about?  Lower your weapons you sods.”

“But sir, she is league with those leeches in the West End-” stated a trigger ready gunner before the Priwen leader cut him off.

“-She is still human, Cagney.  Stand down and put those damn weapons away.”  Watching his men reluctantly withdrawing with their weapons, McCullum returned his attention to the unmoved woman.  “To which do we owe this visit, Miss Ashbury?  Speak quickly, we have things to do.”

“I am sure you and your wardogs do, Mr. McCullum,” said the woman in a rather posh accent.  “Is this how you treat all your visitors?”

“You associate with leeches, Miss Ashbury, forgive our lack of trust in you.  What is it that you want?”  Crossing his arms, the hunter waited for a response.

“Dually noted,” stated the stylish young woman.  “I did not come here to argue my mother’s case; I am here because there is something diabolical afoot and I need your help.”

 


	2. She Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoffrey can't fool the daughter of a vampire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short, but a lot of dialogue compared to first chapter. Work is subjected to edits, but otherwise, enjoy!

 

 

Silence fell across the courtyard.  McCullum raised an eyebrow; staring at the well-off woman, who stood her ground amongst the surrounding Guard.  “We are the Guard of Priwen, Miss Ashbury,” stated the hunter, “not some arms for hire.  Ask your help somewhere else.”  The man then began to walk back into the building.

“The police do not deal with charmed women who think that eating rats will grant them eternal life, Mr. McCullum,” stated the young suffragette.  The leader paused; glaring back at the courtyard.  “Coming here was my last resort since the Brotherhood denied an audience with me.”

“Really now?”  Turning back around with arms crossed, the hunter’s interest was piqued.  “And what makes you believe the Guard will?”

The woman looks around at the gathered Guard in the courtyard.  “What I offer may be of benefit, sir.  If you are willing to discuss my proposition, send your men on their way.”

“A private audience with a leech’s daughter?  You would be walking into a wolves’ den, miss.”  McCullum smirked at the humor of situation.  “You are either very brave or a fool.”

Placing hands on her hips, the woman scowled at the man. “The only fool here,” she said, pointing a finger in the hunter’s direction, “is you, sir.”

Feeling his dead heart skip a beat, Geoffrey narrowed his attention to the woman farther.  “Such bold words from a wandering fawn,” scolded the man.  Looking about, the present Guard had their eyes set on their leader; confused by the woman’s words.  “Very well.  Woody.”

“Sir?”  Armed to the teeth, the war torn lieutenant stepped forward; awaiting orders.

“Get the men ready for their patrols for the night.”  McCullum motioned the woman to follow him into the building.  “Miss Ashbury and I will be in my quarters, discussing her situation.  Come find me when you are done with assignments.”

“Yes, sir.  Will there be anything else?”

Thinking for a moment, the Guard leader turned his attention to the scarred man.  “Just the usual precaution, lieutenant.  If any of the men come across the leech doctor; do not approach him.  Report to me if he is seen.”  Glancing about the courtyard, the man continued.  “If any of you sods dare attack him; you better have a plot ready to rest in.”  Despite what reports have stated about the doctor’s good deeds, he was still a very dangerous if aggravated.  “Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” spoke Andrew, followed by echoing responses from the rest of the Guard.

With a quick, confirming nod, the hunter held the door leading into the main building open; glaring at the imposing suffragette as she entered. 

 

With the door closing, Lieutenant Woodbead left out a sigh of relief.  He was almost certain McCullum would have stuck down the woman where she stood after that remark.  The look his commander shot at her was a rare sight even for him.

“What the bloody hell was about?” asked a familiar voice of one of the gunners.  “Never seen McCullum so agreeable so quickly.”

“Mind yourself, Louis,” stated Woodbead.  “Worry about where you are going to be stationed for the night and let the commander do his job.”  The man could sense the unease in the air as well.  Something wasn’t sitting right with their leader.  “If any of you sods speak out line again, I will insure that you will be permanently stationed in the East End, far away from the Turtle.”  Mild groans echoed through the ranks.  The lieutenant chuckled.  “See, volunteers all ready.”

 

Through the unorganized lounge space and down an unkempt hallway, McCullum guided the clean, and impressively dressed woman to a makeshift space that provided him a workplace and a sleeping space.  It was a rather open floor plane; a cot and personal effects, such as his trusted blade and overcoat, seem to be placed in a far corner by a small room divider blocking what little light that peeped through the closed window shutters.  It left the rest of the room as more of a functional office suited for a vampire hunter.  There was a writing desk with stacks of paperwork along the closest wall to the door; and then a workstation close to the windows that had an array of projects scattered about its surface.

“Do not expect anything fancy,” stated the hunter; closing the door behind them.  “It’s not often I allow people of your caliber in here.” 

“It is no wonder why, Mr. McCullum,” said Miss Ashbury; wrinkling her nose at the underlying smell of dampness in the room.  “You should consider a housemaid.”

“Don’t want one, don’t need one.”  Pausing for a moment, Geoffrey listened for nearby heartbeats.  Sensing they were alone, the man turned his attention back the present company.  “It would seem your reputation proceeds you, Miss Ashbury,” growled the man; dropping the façade as a pair of fangs made their presence known in his mouth.  “You dare call me a fool in front of my men!?”

“You do not scare me, hunter.  I was raised by a vampire; I can spot your kind from a city block away.”  The young suffragette crossed her arms; staring about the room once again.  “You, a vampire hunter that is a vampire himself?  Such a contradiction!  And none of your men even aware of what you have become?”

“No, and it will remain that way.”  A passing thought had the hunter cursing himself even thinking it.  He could feel the hunger starting to gnaw at him.  The woman’s presence was not helping.  “I’m in no mood to quarrel my disposition with you, woman.  Speak up.”

“Straight to the point then.”  Keeping a bit of distance from the hunter, Miss Ashbury sat down in the cleanest looking chair, crossing her legs in a proper fashion like the rest of her pose.  “I fear there is a vampire, an Ekon, targeting people within the city, including those that are part of the voting rights movement.”

“It’s the government, Miss Ashbury.  Both mortals and leeches take part in it, such a stone thrown in a still pond was bound to cause a ripple. ” Geoffrey cared little for politics.  He worried more about the undead presence in the city; preferring to remain neutral on the suffrage upraise.  “You spoke of the Stole Brotherhood.  It is not often I hear of them rejecting such opportunities on their pointless quest of knowledge.”

“In all honestly, I did have an appointment to talk with their Primate, Mr. Talltree, but in a strange twist of fate, Temple Church was attacked in the early hours of that day I was supposed to go.  I was turned away by Scotland Yard.”

“Attacked?”  McCullum shifted through his thoughts, wondering why nothing had showed up in the patrol reports about the event.  “So you got despite and sought us out?”

“The situation is getting dire, sir.”  A sadness came over the woman’s face.  “It started with Ms. Billow.  She was a strong and active member of the movement, but one day, she just stopped coming to the meetings and rallies.  Since then I’ve been seeing reports of strange happenings becoming more frequent.”

“Ms. Billow?  The mad woman who has been feasting on rats?”  The hunter stepped over to the writing desk, shuffling through a small stack of papers, when the thought of eating rats turned his stomach.  He couldn’t imagine how they would taste to a human.  “My men spoke of a woman by that name.  They almost killed her out of mercy.”

“Perhaps they should have.  End her suffering.”

“The Guard of Priwen don’t kill humans, miss.”  Recalling the events at the former theatre headquarters, McCullum was still bitter about how the vampire doctor left his supposed friend to die; staining the Guard’s hands and reputation with blood.  That was a body that will never be found.  “We hunt down and kill leeches.”

“Well, there is no one else to turn to, Mr. McCullum.  If you care for this city so much then you must understand the direness of the situation.”  Miss Ashbury shifted in the chair; trying to find a comfortable position.  “If you and your Guard can find a solution to this problem, then I promise that you will have my support for future endeavors.”

McCullum left out a hardy chuckle.  “Support from a leech’s human daughter?  What would your mother have to say to that?”  He was well aware Lady Ashbury’s flee from the city, but what did that mean for the woman before him?

“Mother left me a rather generous inheritance, sir.  According to everyone else and paperwork, she was another victim of the flu.  What I do with the fortune she left is for me to decide, but I am sure she would understand.”

The idea of a benefactor for the Guard intrigued the hunter.  There has been times that his men could have used extra help and supplies, but the simple fact Miss Ashbury was well associated with leeches was a red flag.  If it were not for her boldness and well aware of his true nature, this meeting would have ended in the courtyard.  “Do you realize what you’re suggesting?”

“I am well aware of the risks, Mr. McCullum,” stated the woman.  “I was not expecting an answer right away, if you wish to think it over first.”

“It would be much to consider.” 

“Then it would seem that we are done here.”  Before the young suffragette could stand, a force fell on her shoulders; keeping her in the chair as it was leaned onto its back legs against a tabletop.  Before her was the pale looking hunter with his hands resting on the table’s edge on either side of the chair; baring no ways of escape.

“Not quite,” growled Geoffrey, closing in on the younger woman’s personal space.  “I will consider your offer, but let me make one thing clear, Miss Charlotte Ashbury.”  The woman’s heart began beating faster; singing in the hunter’s thoughts while placing his cold cheek against the warm skin of his potential benefactor’s temple; his mouth throbbed, longing to bite.  “Speak of my condition with anyone,” he whispered in the woman’s ear, “and the restraint I bare now will be lifted.”

“Do not take me as a fool, hunter.”  McCullum could hear the woman’s voice shake and heart pounding.  “I know how to keep a secret, but I wonder how long you will be able to keep wearing that mask.”

“Then don’t concern yourself with my problems.”  Geoffrey stood back; allowing the woman’s chair to return its remaining legs to the floor.  The hunger was getting worse; forcing him look away from temptation.  A knock soon came to the door.  “Come in.”  The hunter walked over to the window; opening its shutters to the brisk air outside.

The door opened and the scarred lieutenant walked in.  “The men got their orders, sir,” he stated.  “What is it that you need me for now?”

“I need you to escort Miss Ashbury back to her estate.”  Staring out the window, the Priwen leader dare not turn to face the man at the door.  Gliding his tongue across the protruding fangs, the sight would have the lieutenant shoot him where he stood.  “Then take one of our patrolmen with you to Temple Church and learn what you can about an undocumented attack.”

“Yes, sir.  And what of you?  Will you be joining us tonight?  Some of the men are becoming rather too relaxed since you been keeping busy as of late.”

“Later, Woody.  Who all did you send down to the East End tonight?”

“Flint, Locks, Butcher and their lot.”  Gesturing well-dressed woman to follow him, Woodbead looks back at his disgruntled commander.  “Is there a problem?” 

“No, lieutenant.”

Raising an eyebrow, the lieutenant caught the tensioned look of the passing woman’s face.  He again glanced at the unmoved Priwen leader, before grabbing the doorknob.  “Well, then.  Good night, sir.”

Hearing the door close and the heartbeats distancing from the room, the hunter gritted his teeth; slamming the windowsill with a strong fist while fighting the rising hunger within him.  “Damn it all!” growled the man.  Looking out the window, Geoffrey eyed up a first floor balcony and shadow jumped to it, not even giving it a second thought.  The hunger was so great that the trusted blade remained in the room with the bloodstained overcoat, unneeded by its owner in his hunt…

 

Keeping his rifle at the low ready, Andrew walked silently a pace or two behind the impressive looking woman before him.  In comparison, the lieutenant felt rather ridiculous looking in fighting gear; layers of warm clothing with arm and shin guards, as well as a bullet proof vest, topped with a thick scarf around his neck.  A patrol cap kept his head from getting too cold, but it mattered little; a good fight would warm him up right quick.

“You do not have to walk behind me like that, lieutenant,” stated Miss Ashbury.  “I am not some sort of prisoner that needs to be watched.”

“I was given orders to escort you home, miss,” said the scarred brute as he narrowed his attention to the female company, “I prefer not to be involved with your friendly chatter.”

“You already sound more pleasant than your commander, sir.  Perhaps you should consider conversation since we are a ways from the West End.”

“I rather not associate with people that mingle with leeches.”  The lieutenant joined the Guard shortly after returning home from the war.  His experience with vampires on the continent were enough to drive the man away from his family, among other reasons.  “Monsters, all of them.  Seen one take out an entire squad while stationed in France.”

“I am sorry to hear that you had to experience such a spectacle.”  The woman fell silent for a moment.  “Have you killed a lot of vampires since then?”

“Yes.  Between the rest of the Guard and myself, we lost count after that last wave of that epidemic.  Just killed a rather nasty one last night by that damned hospital.”  Why was he sharing such things with this woman?  “Why does it matter to you, miss?”

“Well it is not every day I get a personal escort from a Priwen guardsmen.  I was painted a picture of ruthless and mindless hunters; I cannot help it, but to take advantage at the opportunity to talk with one.”

“We are not as ruthless or as mindless as some may think.”  Andrew almost felt flattered by the remark, but he dare not speak of it. 

“I see that now, lieutenant.  Your commander looks to know what he is doing.”  Miss Ashbury readjusted her coat; making sure exposed skin was better covered.

“Indeed.  McCullum is a good leader, as well as a good man; even if he hasn’t been himself as of late-.” Cutting himself off, the scarred man cursed himself for getting involved in conversation.

“Having ill thoughts of your commander, sir?”  The woman was quick to notice the concern tone of voice the lieutenant tried to hide.

“It’s what you said to him in the courtyard earlier,” recovered the brute.  “Never have the Guard seen him get so unnerved by such a small insult.”  They were getting closer to the upper class district; fewer dilapidated buildings were appearing.  He couldn’t wait to escape the conversation.

“What can I say?  I knew how to deal with such difficult men.”  The young suffragette shot a smirk towards the lieutenant.  What she couldn’t see was the man blushing under the scarf that covered his nose and mouth.

The rest of the walk was quiet as the two entered the West End.  Remaining behind the dark skinned woman, Andrew followed her until they reached the gates of Miss Ashbury’s home.  “I bid you a good evening, miss,” stated the scarred man, tipping his cap respectfully.

“The same to you, good sir.  Perhaps our paths will cross again soon?”

“It may be safer it they didn’t, but perhaps another time.” 

“Indeed.  Until the next time, lieutenant.  Good hunting.”

Waiting until the woman was safely behind the closed door, Andrew left out a sigh of relief.  It had been awhile since he really talked to someone outside the Guard; it was almost refreshing.  It also worried him.  Such an association could be dangerous for both parties.  He had to be careful.

With his task completed, the lieutenant set out to Temple Church; wondering what all was said between the commander and that peculiar woman.


	3. On The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things could have gone terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like colds. I'm going to make a note to myself to edit this project when it gets closer to the end. Its gonna have some rough spots, but enjoy it if you like.

 

 

Dark and gloomy as ever; a cloud always seemed to loom over the East End Docks. For most, it was the roughest part of town; between the violence and murders, it was a battlefield for two different wars for the last few months. While most knew about the constant collision of the trade union workers and the local gang, a secret war raged in the shadows. For a time, the epidemic was fierce; many humans falling prey to the infection’s dire mutations. For that, Geoffrey and many of the Priwen guards had much success culling the district of the unfortunate souls.

It wasn’t much the case now. With the core of the epidemic dealt with, the Docks were too becoming quiet, but there was still plenty for the Guard of Priwen to do. The Skals were still a regular presence in the decrepit buildings and dark alleys; along with the more vile kinds of vampires that reside in the city.

Apart from keeping track of the Priwen patrol close by, the hunter lurked about the rooftops; in hopes to find an isolated Skal or two for himself. The hunger within him was raging to the point that the local denizens’ heartbeats pierced through the shades of grey. It was so tempting for Geoffrey to drop down below and take the life of the first unlucky bloke he crossed, but then everything would take a plunge into a deep and dark place that would make the Thames seem much easier to escape. No, there was too much at stake with even just one human being killed.

A shrill of scream jarred the man’s focus. It wasn’t the usual Skal shriek; it was very much human. Another cry rang through the air. It was a woman. Sorting through the layers of greys and heartbeats, the hunter quickly looked about for his men. They heard it too; watching their hearts race as they began running towards the commotion. Geoffrey to act in haste; knowing traversing the streets below was out of the question, he quickly shadow jumped across the rickety rooftops in pursuit.

In the matter of seconds, he well ahead of his own men. A pair of heartbeats came within his hearing; with their blood glowing like beacons. One was human; full of life and vibrantly red. The other was of undead origins; low heartbeat in a darker tone of color, but it was nothing that could go undetected. There seems to be a struggle between the two; as though the human was trying to fight back.

From atop the closest rooftop, Geoffrey focused attention on the commotion just below him, briefly shaking off the grey shades of his vision. A woman in working clothes swung a broken wood post vigorously at a male figure in rather fancy ware, who clearly wasn’t human. The hunter gritted his teeth. _Damn Ekons_ , he thought, watching as the woman suddenly lost her makeshift weapon and the vampire grasp her arm!

There was no time! The Priwen leader dropped to the street below: vanishing into the shadows as he ran at the attacking creature. Before the leech could embrace the poor woman, Geoffrey slammed into the creature from the shadows; breaking the contact with the woman. The beast went flying across the cobble street; winded by the impact before he glared at his attacker. “How dare you!” hissed the Ekon, baring his fangs.

The hunter had seen this creature before. One of the Ascalon prats that had lingered in the West End. “You’re on the wrong side of town, leech,” he growled before looking over at the disheveled woman. “Get out of here!” With a grateful stare, the woman gathered herself and fled the area.

“I guess you will just have to make due, hunter,” growled the vampire as he stood. “It’s been awhile since I tasted-” Pausing for a moment, the Ekon took a good long stare at his opponent. “What sort of sick joke is this? The Priwen pricks have a pet vampire now?”

McCullum left out a low growl. He didn’t know how to answer such a question without contradicting himself.

“No, matter,” said the creature through a toothy grin. “Unarmed and alone; you will make for an easy kill!” The Ekon vanished in a puff of black smoke.

Cursing himself, Geoffrey regretted for leaving in such haste; forgetting just about everything back at headquarters because the hunger was too much. Before he could react, pain erupted in the back of the hunter’s head; falling forward unconsciously before a force wrapped around him. A sharp pain surged from his neck, and the man felt the blood being drained from him. “No!” cried the man.

It did not last long. The sounds of choking and gurgling could be heard as the hunter was thrown to the ground. Grasping the bleeding neck, McCullum glared up at the disgruntled vampire.

“Disgusting!” choked the creature, clearly surprised of the taste he just experienced. “What manner of trick is this?!” A hiss escaped the Ekon as he reached down for his fallen prey.  
Geoffrey growled as the hunger clasped itself to the man’s very being. Instinctively, when the vampire was close enough, the hunter reached out with a clawed hand, sinking it into the creature’s arm, pulling him down to the ground! With the beast pinned to the ground, and with advantage, the man snapped the creature’s arm with ease, bone piercing through cold, dead flesh.

“Ragh!” howled the Ekon, clearly in pain as blood spilled from the wounds. “You flagitious bastard!”

Blood. It sang to Geoffrey’s thirst now. Again his sight went grey, but the blood glowed vibrantly, pulsing in its familiar vessel, blinding the man. With a free set of claws, he sank them into the vampire’s face, grasping the flesh while closing in on the creature’s throat. Opening his mouth, the hunter’s protruded fangs ached, plummeting into the exposed pale surface!  
The fluid flooded the Priwen leader’s mouth with absolute delight. The taste… it wasn’t like the Skal blood he had grown accustomed to; sweeter, but still seemed… unfulfilling. Geoffrey didn’t argue. He clamped harder into the struggling vampire’s neck, greedily consuming the only thing that eased the hunger… What he would give to not have it…

“Get off me!” cried the weakening Ekon. “What sort of creature are you?!”

McCullum quickly pulled away from the embrace, viciously tearing flesh with his fangs. The feeling of ecstasy overflowed his senses, heart aching as the stolen blood briefly filled the void within him. With deep and rapid breaths, the man brought his stained lips close to the vampire’s ears. “Your worst nightmare, beast!”  
“You are a monster!”  
Geoffrey growled angerly. Digging his claws in the open neck wound, the hunter tore the vampire’s head from the rest of his body; hearing the bones breaking and muscles ripping, insuring of never rising again as the headless body sprawled across the ground. “Filthy piece of shit…”

“Over here!” called a familiar voice of a nearby Priwen guard. Geoffrey nearly forgot about the patrol. “About time we see some action tonight.”

“Sorry, boys,” whispered the hunter. Getting to his feet the man looked for a quick means of escape before he was spotted; saddened that his men missed the opportunity. Just before he could shadow jump his way back the rooftops, the sound of footsteps could be heard several yards away as they rounded the corner.

“Oi, looks like we got one!” cried a voice behind the McCullum as a loud metal ring filled the air.

“Argh!” growled the hunter as a sharp, burning pain erupted in his shoulder! Staggering forward, he caught himself from falling to the ground, grasping his throbbing shoulder. Panicking, the man shadow jumped to the closest balcony as another shot rang out, this one whizzing pass as it lodged itself in a wooden beam near his head. Not waiting for another round, he quickly jumped to a low sitting roof, escaping the patrol with his life.  
“Shit, that fucker’s fast!” cried an approaching voice below.

Safe amongst the chimneys and shingles above, Geoffrey collapsed to his stained hands and knees as the pain continued to burn. “Shit!” he stated, ripping at the bloody cloth around the wounded shoulder, needing to tend to it quickly. _Damn things fucking hurt!_ The thoughts ran through the ragged man’s head, bracing for more pain as he dug into the exit wound, trying to grasp the bullet that was lodged there.

Upon finding the slug, the hunter clinched his teeth in pain as he pulled it out. It had been a round designed to take down the bloodsuckers, although this wasn’t the best way to find out if they were really that effective. He never wanted to experience again, that much was certain.  
Dropping the bullet, McCullum turned his attention to the commotion below. Curious to their reactions, the man focused his attention to listen in on the patrol.

“Damn leeches,” said the voice that could only belong to Flint; a crack shot well known among the guard, and who was most likely the one to have shot off the rounds. “Look at this, the coward killed one of its own!”

“Does it matter?” said a female voice, well known as Locks. “One less leech on the streets.”

“Yeah? But you didn’t see what I seen. Too dark to recognize the one that escaped, but judging by this dead fucker, it is a dangerous one.”

“It could have been the doctor,” stated a rather deeper male voice, which could only belong to Butcher.

“No. I know what that bastard looks like, Butch.” Flint had been in Southwark that night when word of a newborn vampire reached McCullum. The doctor had distinctive look about him that not matter of dirt and blood could not hide. “Seemed rather underdressed compared to this fancy looking beast.”

“Well it’s gone now. Check the pockets then burn the fucker. We will put this in the report; McCullum will not be happy knowing there is another leech roaming about.” McCullum could hear the frustration in the woman’s voice. “The bastard took away our glory.”

_That was close_ , thought Geoffrey, sighing in relief while pointlessly wiping away at the blood on his face. If it had been a few seconds more, there would have had a fight on his hands. The smell of blood dwindled as the hunter took a look at the garments he wore. Blood from the vampire bite and the gunshot stained the collars of his undershirt and vest; sticking to his skin as it dried. The blood was also caking up in the bristles of his beard and it was becoming rather annoying. The thought of Priwen seeing their leader like this sent a chill down the man’s spine. He could only hope that they would grant him a quick death if ever discovered.

With the hunger at a low coo in his core, the hunter fixed himself before making his return back to Whitechapel. Observing the patrol from afar, he wondered why the vampire was even there in the first place. During the briefly lived Great Hunt all those weeks ago, the creature he killed rarely wondered far from the typical Ascalon scum haunts by the West End. Was their hunting grounds being compromised?

The thought worried the man while recollecting on the conversation with the Ashbury woman. If there was really something dark going on in the West End, why hasn’t Priwen report anything more unusual than a charmed suffragette that was eating rats?

A shrill of a Skal echoed in the streets below as Geoffrey traverse across the rooftops. With the hunger sated, he dare not risk another kill with the patrol nearby. “Disgusting beasts,” stated the hunter. The lingering scent of blood reminded him the need of returning to headquarters with haste before it became too much. Within the shadows, the man continued on his track once again across London; spiraling into the shame and self-loathing actions of his monstrous nature while doing so.

 

Across town, well into the core of the night, the quiet streets painted a much different picture. Walking about with a Priwen gunner, Andrew couldn’t help but to notice the eerie silence around Temple Church. Perhaps it was the lack of Skal shrills? Last time he spent this much time in the area was several weeks ago. Or maybe the winter’s air was driving the usual night folk into their warmer dwellings? The lieutenant could feel a sudden chill down the spine the moment he stood still long enough. Whatever the case, it didn’t feel right.

“Oi, lieutenant,” called a close by Priwen guard. “Care for a drink? It’ll warm you right up.” In the patrol’s hand was a small metal flask being waved around.

“Not very wise, Cagney,” stated Woodbead, hoping to catch sight of the local detective inspector, with no luck. “Drinking while on patrol? You know how it dulls your abilities against the beasts, yeah?”

“It’s only a sip, Woody.” Walking up to scarred brute, the leaner man held out the container.

“Besides, there isn’t really anything going on and it’s fucking cold out.”

Hesitant for a moment, the lieutenant took the flask. Holding it to his face while taking in a whiff. “It smells like my father would have drank,” he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Burnt wood and hops.”

“A man of simple tastes then?”

 “Perhaps.” Andrew held his breath while taking a quick swig of the bitter concoction. “We don’t really share similar tastes these days.” The liquid went down fighting; burning almost as he started coughing, handing back over the container.  
“Aye, I can agree to that.”

Woodbead side-eyed the bundled up patrolman. “Have you met my father?”

“He had been lollygagging around the Turtle last time a few of the boys and myself patrolled the Docks. Asked a lot about you when he discovered we were with the Guard.”

“That is not surprising.” The brute left out a sigh of bittersweet relief. He was glad knowing that the old man was alive and well, but it had been quite a while since any contact had been made. “What did you tell him?”

“Not much I’m afraid.” Cagney shifted his gear to find a bit of comfort. “Told him that you were ok and not to worry. Hard to discuss leeches with citizens without being compromised.”

A chuckle raised from Andrew’s throat. “Don’t let his age fool you. He could probably give a few of our cadets a run for their money.”

“I’m not going to doubt his capabilities; told a tale about his days as the Wet Boot Boys leader. Doesn’t much like how its reputation has gone to shit.” Looking his superior up and down. “It’s no wonder why you joined the Guard.”

“I have my reasons for not following in my father’s footsteps,” stated the lieutenant. Looking around, not wanting to continue the subject, it was time for the men to move along. “Put that flask away. We don’t want people getting the wrong idea.”

Stretching his arms out; looking about the surrounding buildings, the Priwen gunner was clearly not afraid. “What people? Where? I may have seen one brave soul closing up shop by the park a few hours ago.”

“The last thing we need is those blokes from the Yard smelling alcohol on your person, Cagney.” Andrew was starting to get anxious. The church was closed and the city authorities seemed rather absent tonight. “Damn weather must be keeping them in tonight.”  
“Then I have nothing to worry about.” The gunner then tucked away the flask in his coat. “I don’t see why McCullum is worried about this place anyways. A few of us already knew the Stole Primate survived.”

“It was the fact that nothing was reported about it, Mr. Louis. If it involved the Stole Brothers, it definitely should have been documented. That attack could have been done vampires.”  
“You and I both know the Brotherhood are capable taking care of themselves, Woody. It happened after we got pulled off patrol for the day, let the city deal with this one.”

The lieutenant rolled his eyes; annoyed with the gunner’s attitude. “You are unbearable at times, do you know that Cagney?” Watching the guardsman shrug his shoulders, unfazed by the lieutenant’s remark, both men continued patrolling the surrounding city streets.

 

_So much blood_. Smelling the bloody garments burn in the fireplace, Geoffrey cringed in disgust while scrubbing away at the stained skin at the water basin. While cleaning, the hunter stared at the newest scars of his collection in the mirror; reminders of a single night that could have gone terribly wrong. He did look less agitated now that hunger was appeased, but he knew it will return again soon; for that was its nature.

Insuring that he got all the blood, McCullum searched his wardrobe for clean clothes. It was really much all the same sort; simple undershirts and decently tailored dark vests, but nothing too fancy since most of them was stained from previous encounters with the undead. If he had worn the overcoat, the blood would have been a lot easier to clean off, but that wasn’t the case.

Pondering the conversation with Ashbury, McCullum spent a better part of an hour fixing himself; shifting through the papers on the desk while doing so. Aside from the charmed woman that ate rats, claiming a voice made her do it, there was little evidence for a lead. But then a thought occurred. There was another that spoke of voices. Thelma Howcroft.

_Damn._ Gathering his coat and sword this time, the hunter made his way back outside to the courtyard; ignoring the handful of men that watched the premises as determination set in. He needed answers, and those answers were in the hospital.


	4. That's Not The Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanting to say thanks for reading and for the Kudos. More notes later!

 

Pembroke Hospital. Its very name irked the hunter, reading the name above the main entrance of the now abandoned building. Not only was it named for the renowned knight William Marshal, a vampire, it was the core of the entire Skal epidemic that ravaged the city. It was also where Geoffrey fell in defeat to a vampire doctor as well as losing his life.

There was an eerie feeling that has settled in the area. After the height of the epidemic and the loss of their administrator, the hospital went into a rapid decline as many of the patients left to seek better help or became healthy enough to return home. That was before reports came in about a spike in deaths drew the Guard of Priwen back to its doors a few short weeks ago. Not only were the remaining patients dying off every night, doctors and nurses were soon being found dead, abandoned in nearby alleys or decrepit buildings.

It was after learning about Thelma Howcroft’s fate that had McCullum send the Guard in to detain the area that the hospital resided in. After several dealings with packs of infected Skals, and a nasty encounter with an elusive Vulkod, the creature behind the hospital’s downfall was finally dealt with. All that was left now was finding the truth behind the former patient’s turning. It was only one of a couple reasons why the hunter was here.

After informing the local Priwen patrol of his presence, Geoffrey instructed them to keep a look out while he investigated. “Would you like one of us to go along with you, sir?” asked the patrol sergeant, barely recognizable under the layers of warmth and armor. “We been keeping the perimeter rather clear of leeches, but it’s been a few nights since anyone has been inside.”

“No, Doyle,” stated the unmoved hunter. “A Skal or two are of no concern. Just continue with your patrol, but keep vigilant.” It was the safer approach. Not only to keep the men safe, but also retain his secret from being revealed if there was to be an attack.

“Yes, sir,” said the discontent sergeant in agreement. “Tread carefully, then.”  
With a nod, McCullum watched the sergeant continue with patrol before approaching the deathly silent former hospital. Looking about, he could see that going through the ground floor entrance was not an option; a faint heartbeat glowed through the walls. Not wanting to alert whatever it was, the hunter waited for the local patrol to be well out of sight before eying up a war torn first floor wing; wooden scaffolding and supports plaguing its skeletal remains, allowing the man to shadow jump with ease.

Debris blanked the exposed tiled floor as Geoffrey walked about. The months of rain furthered the damaged, soaking into the wood and plaster of the remaining walls; broken bits of brick stained the tile floor with puddles of soot water. Signs that pointed to the Pembroke’s impending end long before the epidemic. Carefully moving around the mess, the man pulled opened a poorly secured door; entering the silent hall of the undamaged part of the first floor.

A collection of smells quickly overwhelmed the hunter’s senses within a few steps of entering. Amongst the stagnant air and the nauseating aroma of ether, the lingering smell of blood tugged at the man the most. “My God, will this ever stop?” Talking to himself, Geoffrey could feel the hunger stir. Using the scarf around his neck, the man wrapped it around his nose and mouth; hindering the smells from getting the best of him. It did make him wonder how Reid retained from attacking the hospital; hiding so well among the mortals before being discovered by the Guard.

With the ability to concentrate again, he continued the track down the dark and deserted hallway before coming the foyer. The chandelier loomed at its center; no longer casting light for the large space, but haunting it with darkened glass globes. Looking across the hall, a single office door stood ajar, with London’s street lights casting shadows from the opening as Geoffrey approached.

The space seemed almost untouched, aside from bits of paper scattered about and fallen medical equipment unfamiliar to the hunter, it was more of a terrible reminder of the events that its scarred walls have witnessed. It made the hunter’s blood run colder knowing the epidemic started here, but he wasn’t about to reminisce on those days. There was a possibility of a new threat lurking in London’s shadows, and Geoffrey wasn’t planning to ignore it.

Shifting through the drawers and cabinets, the gruff man soon stumbled on what he was looking for. Tucked away in a wooden filing cabinet, a rather newer looking leather book sat atop of older versions of itself. On its front, engraved in the leather were the words: Visitor’s Register. Glancing through its pages, Geoffrey snapped the book closed before tucking it under his arm. Closing shut the cabinet, he made his exit of the office.

Before going about exiting the same way he entered, a thought made the hunter reconsider his movement. Rather than returning to the dilapidated wing, the man took a walk down its opposing section. With no vampire mental patient roaming about, or any doctors around to stop him, the remaining offices were free to explore. As to what he will find, that was a mystery. The log book was a good start, but finding more on this new case may aid McCullum later on.

At the end of the corridor, a pair of opened offices sat adjacent from one another. One to the left had a plaque assigned to doctors Ackryod, Strickland, and Tippets. The one at the very end of the hallway had only one doctor assigned, Reid. Keeping from barging into the latter, Geoffrey steered into the office on the left first; wanting to be somewhat thorough with his investigation. Reid hadn’t been around to have been involved with the recent murders; the hunter knew this all too well. The vampire doctor may have ended many lives of the Guard’s men, but he avoid attacking those that didn’t pose a threat. Not only that, the doctor had disappeared shortly after destroying the impending Disaster, and hasn’t been seen since.

The office bared a collection of three different doctors. One desk seemed rather isolated from the other two, cluttered with more unfamiliar medical equipment; the others seem rather organized for being unoccupied for the last few weeks. The former mental patient’s madness preserved much of the space; killing anyone that dared enter her lair. As he glanced about the paperwork, a report caught the hunter’s attention. It belonged to Thelma Howcroft and it was recent.

Reading the entry, a doctor noted how the crazed woman seem to succumb to her madness; having to put restraints on her after attacking another patient. There was also a mention of a strange man coming to visit her shortly before the incident. “Interesting,” stated Geoffrey, tucking the report into the log book’s cover. There wasn’t much else of interest in the rest of the office, causing the man to exit the space.

Compared to the other, the office that Reid occupied was rather empty. Much of the doctor's work and belongings vanished as well, but it didn’t keep the hunter from searching the space. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but any information about the creature was better than nothing.

Aside from the standard glass tubes and flasks, McCullum could find little on the former occupant. It wasn’t until he glanced over at a bed tucked in a corner, separated from the rest of the space by a curtain divider. There he noticed something sticking from underneath the mattress. Walking towards the corner, he could see that it was a folder of sorts. Different sizes and types of paper protruding from the edges as he pulled it from the hiding spot. Upon opening the folder, Geoffrey was astonished by what he discovered.

Within the folder was a collection of articles, letters, and brochures related to vampires. The hunter even recognized some of the handwritten momentum as his mentor's as well as his own. “How in God's name did the leech come across these?” stated the Priwen leader, flipping over more of the notes. There was even writings from Usher Talltree, the current Primate of the Brotherhood of Saint Paul’s Stole! _Damn Stole cowards!_ McCullum recalled quite a few unpleasant encounters with the old faction; one member in particular. “What all have you been meddling in, Reid?” asking himself, clenching his teeth seeing the familiar handiwork of the… secret vampire society known as the Ascalon Club.

Seeing that the collection was of little importance to the doctor, it told the hunter that it was free to take. With the log book and medical file, Geoffrey tucked the evidence away in a forgotten satchel that sat by the bed before slinging it across his shoulder.

_“There you are,”_ whispered an echoing voice.

The hunter paused. _What was that?_ He thought, securing the satchel properly. Glancing around the room, the man discarded the whisper as sounds from outside before exited the room.

Upon reaching the foyer, sounds from the ground floor reminded Geoffrey that there was still something lurking about; out of sight of the patrols outside. Staring down and over the banister, focusing the endless looking dark, a bright trail of blood flared his senses once again. Although out of mortal sight, his cursed sight allowed the path be seen through the floor and down the corridor below. At the end was a massive blood pool, a faintly beating heart hovering above it, occupying a rather sizable form.

“Shit,” stated the hunter. He knew all too well what creature lurked below. It had to be dealt with, and quickly. He could deal with such a creature, but between the confined space of the floor below and the patrols outside, fighting a Vulkod alone would prove rather challenging. Geoffrey growled in discontent, continuing his exit of the building; away from the nauseating smells.

Outside, the Priwen leader insured it was safe to return to the streets below, out of sight of the patrols, keeping an eye out for the sergeant in charge. He did not have to look too far; seeing the man walking about the hospital garden with the assigned chaplain. While still a few yards away from the pair, Geoffrey paused for a moment, overhearing his name being said. Approaching slowly, he stood just out of sight of the pair.

“…Kind of odd for McCullum to have dealt with that doctor by himself,” said Sergeant Doyle.

“The leech didn’t kill him, but he hasn’t been the same since.”

“You don’t think the beast charmed him?” asked the chaplain.

“Are you mad, Father Ryan? McCullum is a stubborn arse, those tricks never phased him. No, I’m talking about him going from being involved with the Guard; out on the streets and fighting leeches, to hiding in that damn office most nights. He doesn’t even go out have a drink with most us now.” A part of Geoffrey suddenly felt empty. Of course he wanted to be more involved as the Guard’s leader, but the damned curse bestowed upon him kept the hunter restricted to watching over it. The truth of its leader being a vampire would be a dire blow to the Guard’s ethos.

“Aye, you’re right, but I won’t be the one to question the man about it. Best leave Woodbead deal with him.” _Smart man_ , thought the Priwen leader while the pair of men came into sight.

“Oi, speak of the Devil.”

“Did you find what you were looking, sir?” asked Doyle, eyes wondering off from making contact with his commander’s cold stare.

“That I did, sergeant,” stated McCullum, glaring at the man, “but there is a problem. Gather a few your men, we got a beast to evict from this place.”

“Aye, sir.” Both the sergeant and the chaplain rushed out of the garden, leaving the leader alone.

Walking the perimeter of the hospital for what felt like the hundredth time, the hunter had to figure out a strategy to deal with the Vulkod. Getting the beast out of the building would be easy, but once outside, it could put up a fight if something were to go wrong. Despite its size, it was still a vampire; agile, strong, and downright vicious; sharp claws and teeth alike, Geoffrey has seen many good men be torn apart by these creatures.

After several minutes, both the sergeant and chaplain returned with what to be some of the more seasoned guardsmen. Aside from an obvious brawler with a shotgun, then there was a grenadier and a masked guard with what looked to be a homemade weapon with a small gas tank strapped to his back. “Sorry, only got Flynn, Will, and Conner available. We got too many recruits on this patrol tonight,” stated Doyle.

“No, this will do,” said McCullum as the plan began to settle in his mind. “Flynn, you are going to have to gas it out first from the other side. Force the leech to escape through a window where Conner will be throwing grenade or two at it. Father Ryan and Will, you two need to keep the beast grounded once the grenades go off, so Sergeant Doyle and I can make quick work of its head.”

“Aye, sir.” With orders given the sergeant used hand signals to direct his men in position; each knowing what they needed to do.

Watching the efficiency of the men, Geoffrey couldn’t help, but feel proud. All the training and experience could be seen in this lot as they surrounded the space where the unknowing beast continued to feed on the remains of some poor sod. The blood glowed brightly through the walls as well as the heartbeat of the guardsmen on the other side of the building, approaching it cautiously. At this point, the hunter was thankful to have kept the scarf covering the lower portion of his face; the anticipation caused his fangs to extend again, wanting to bite. Not now! Shaking his head, the Priwen leader needed to focus. One misstep, one sign of the creature he has become and it’s over.

“Sir?” questioned the chaplain, seeing the commander looking distressed. “Are you all right?”

“I could use some more sleep, but it’s nothing for concern.” Geoffrey said, taking cover behind a collection of discarded crates. Unsheathing the sword, he forced the beastly thoughts to the back of his mind, readying for the impending fight. The plan was a loose one, the chances of something going wrong was high.

A loud crash of breaking glass could be heard from the other side of the building, steeling the hunters as the hiss of gas could be seen filling the window before them. A painful roar soon followed as a massive shadow encumbered the glass frame before bursting out! “Grenade out!” called Flynn as a metal pin sound could be heard hitting the ground.

In a simultaneous moment, both the grenade and the emerging mass landed within a meter of each other. Before the lupine creature had a chance to even realize what was happening a short, a loud pop echoed against the building, followed by a rather sharp yelp from the beast as the gas and smoke clouded the area. “Have at it, boys!” called out the sergeant.

On cue, both Father Ryan, and the brawler Will, jumped from cover, rushing to the dissipating cloud, a loud bang could be heard as the shotgun let loose a buckshot of a round, spraying it’s load at the fallen beast! “Don’t like that, do ya leech!?” cried Will as the Vulkod roared in retaliation.

Before the creature could lash back, Father Ryan stepped forward. “Back to the shadows with you!” he said, displaying a crucifix, stunning the beast with the holy light it illuminated.

McCullum’s heart sink. Never has he witness the light from a crucifix before, wondering how it really worked against their enemies. Seeing it now could mean trouble for the hunter, but this was not the time to flee.

“McCullum! Now!” called out Sergeant Doyle.

Gritting his teeth, Geoffrey leaped from his cover, he cautiously charged in with sword at hand! “Die, leech!” the hunter yelled, closing his eyes while swinging the blade in full force into the light bathed beast's hulking neck, bracing for the crucifix’s power to stun him as well.

Silence. The smell of blood. Slowly, the Priwen leader opened his eyes. Before him a bloody blade in hand and a dead Vulkod at his feet, its head cleanly cut from the rest of the body. The hunter could see his shadow casting over the beast, but didn’t feel the power of the chaplain’s crucifix was projecting. _Strange_ , he thought.

“Damn, sir,” stated the shocked, yet disappointed, sergeant. “Didn’t even let me get a shot in…”

McCullum remained silent for a moment; his mind processing what just happened while trying not to think of the blood in front of him. “Good work, boys.” The lackluster in his voice echoed in his head. “Get this mess cleaned up before more leeches show.”

“And what of you, sir?” asked Doyle.

“I need to get back to Whitechapel.” Glaring down at the bloody sword in his hand, the hunter clinched his teeth in resent. “Got work to do before the night's done.”

“Aye, then perhaps get some sleep?” said the sergeant. “Forgive my bluntness, but you look like shit, sir.”

“I'll think about it.” If it were not for the fact that he was their leader, the men would have probably would have shunned him as a vampire weeks ago. “We will talk again soon.”

“Good night, sir.” With a nod of acknowledgement, the Priwen leader continued on his way.

Walking out of sight of the patrol, safe from prying eyes, Geoffrey left out a deep sigh of relief. Finding an alley off the main street into the Whitechapel district, the man leaned against the brick wall, tearing away the scarf from his face, breathing in the cold air to clear lingering thoughts. “Shit,” he said, tossing the bloodied blade to the cobbled ground, pushing the hunger back to a far reach in his mind.

_“So it was you that broke my doll, hunter?”_ whispered a raspy voice, echoing down the alleyway.

Geoffrey snapped his head in alert. Looking around for the source of the voice, he saw nothing but light casted shadows and scattered garbage on the ground. “Show yourself,” growled the man, sensing the presence of a vampire. “What sort of beast plays with dolls?”  
“She was such a marvel to watch, until your men destroyed her, my mistress of the dark.”

_Howcroft_ , thought the hunter, grasping the satchel at his side. “You made her a monster,” he stated. “A rabid animal that needed to be put down. She was nothing more than a brush; painting everything in blood by your hand.”

_“How poetic coming from you. Dancing around the edge of the abyss, to a song no longer yours; praying that you don’t misstep? In time you will fall, just like the rest of us.”_

“Never!” Geoffrey quickly reached to reclaim the fallen blade, drawn in front of him, hoping for an attack from his mocker. “Stop hiding and face me, you coward!”

_“Oh how I love new toys! How long until it becomes stained and broken I wonder?! Until the next time, hunter.”_ The atmosphere suddenly felt lighter and silence fell upon the alley again.

Sword still drawn before him, the hunter was left in utter disbelief. This is not good, he thought, looking about again to make sure he was alone. Howcroft was trouble before being taken down, but if that was her Maker, then the Guard will have their hands full with an even more vicious monster roaming the streets. “My God,” said Geoffrey, angrily growling in absolute disbelief as he stormed into Whitechapel, eager to find out who this beast was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter, I'm not going to lie. I was exploring a couple different ideas and this is the result so far. Hoping next chapter will work out smoother.


	5. The Breather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's best to take a break. Its more or less a filler chapter.

 

 

It was nearly dawn when Andrew, with the West End patrols returned to the Priwen headquarters in Whitechapel. Like the others the lieutenant seemed discontent with the uneventful night in that part of town, hoping to hear the other patrols had better luck. “So there we were,” started Flint as Andrew walked into the courtyard, after dropping off some gear in the armory, “Lockes, Butch, and myself hanging around that asylum the leech saint runs. All was quiet early in the night, not a vermin anywhere to be seen, until a scream echoed through the streets.” The lieutenant stepped closer to the group to listen. “At first, we thought it was Skal shrill, but quickly realized it was a woman screaming!”

“Nothing out of the ordinary in that part of town, Mr. Flint,” stated Woodbead. Born and raised by the Docks, he was no stranger to its reputation for violence.

“Aye, you’re right about lieutenant, but let me finish. The woman's scream had us running, expecting to find her dead in a beast’s embrace. When we got close to the screaming, a woman came running around a corner, nearly shot her too.” 

“Did she say anything or did she keep running?”

“Too damn scared to speak. Pointed in the direction she came from before scurrying off.” The guard drew out his revolver and placed it on the worn table aside of him. “There were two of the beasts; one clearly dead while the other escaped with a bullet or two lodged in ‘em.”

“Escaped?” questioned Andrew. “Were they not Skals?”

“No, these ones were of the devious sort, sir. The dead one wore fancy threads and was probably on the list during the Great Hunt all those weeks ago.” Flint stuck a hand into a satchel on his side. “As for the escaped one, it was too dark to identify, but we suspect it was a new leech.” After shuffling through it for a moment, the man pulled out a folded piece of paper. “There is more in the report,” he said, handing his superior the document. 

“A new leech? Why the suspicion Mr. Flint?” Taking the paper, the lieutenant unfolded it and glanced at the written report.

“It feasted and killed that fancy bloodsucking prat, lieutenant! Sure I’ve witnessed such creatures before, biting and clawing each other in self-defense, but to feed off and kill its own kind? Never have I seen such a thing.”  
Raising an eyebrow, Andrew read for a moment longer. “McCullum isn’t going to like this.”

“Aye, good luck, Woody,” stated Flint while shedding off the warmer layers of his attire. Baring the untidy mess of dark hair under his hat. “Last thing we need is an angry commander even more pissed off. I doubt that suffragette’s visit was a friendly one.”

“I doubt her visit would have made any difference.” Folding up the report, the scarred brute wished his fellow guardsmen a good morning before heading down the hallway, towards his commander’s quarters.

The door was closed, but before Woodbead could knock, a muffled voice called from behind it.

“Enter, Woody,” it said. Recognizing it to be McCullum’s, the man walked through into the room. Once inside, Andrew could see the Priwen leader sitting at the workbench, tending to a bloodied blade.

“I see you ventured out for a change, sir,” said the lieutenant, closing the door behind him.

“The men were beginning to think that you have become a bit of a recluse.” Looking about, the man could see new additions to the desk filled with reports and books. Particularly a couple folders and a log book.   
Looking up from the sword, the commander’s sharp blue eyes glared at the man. “Are you here to mock me, or report of the night’s efforts, Andrew?” asked the Irishman.

“Perhaps a bit of both, Geoffrey.” The brute crossed his arms, agitated by his commander’s rather calm demeanor. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your absence amongst the nightly patrols. Even though there are fewer leeches on the streets, but that is no excuse to hide in here.” McCullum remained quiet; listening to his lieutenant with both ears. “With that said, there isn’t much in the reports aside what Doyle has said about you with the hospital occurrence and the incident down by the Docks. The West End was quiet.”

“And the Temple Church incident?”

“The church was closed and no one from Scotland Yard was around. Even the Primate was absent from his usual spot down in the crypt.”

“What of the Docks? Leeches creeping out from the sewers again?”

“The Skals are nothing new in that part of town, sir; they still surface from time to time, but that wasn’t part of the report that is concerning.” Placing the report on the desk, Andrew picked up the folder of collected papers.

“Well, speak up then.”

“Flint and a few others discovered the presence of a new leech. It seems to have a thirst for vampire blood.” Andrew could see the annoyance in the leader’s expression after speaking those words. “The victim was one with a name on that list we have going. The report says it was drained and had its head torn off.”

“A leech-killing leech? Did anyone see this creature?” There was an uneased tone in the man’s voice that the lieutenant couldn’t help, but to notice. 

“Not in detail. Flint shot at it, but fled to the rooftops according to the report.” Flipping through the pages, Andrew could see why his commander claimed it.

“Damn,” said McCullum, plunging his blade into the wooden floorboards, where it stood tall.

“Well, Mr. Woodbead, it would seem that we have enough on our plate.”

“Why is that, sir?”

“I was on my way back from the Poplar district. A rather devious leech taunted me from the shadows, whispering of that Howcroft woman as though she was a toy. He didn’t like that we broke it.”

Andrew went quiet for a moment, pondering the thought of two dangerous creatures prowling London's streets. “Do you think we are chasing the same beast?”

“I don’t believe so. The leech that Flint and the others encountered should not be of much concern, but should still be pursued.”

“Aye, and what of the one you encountered? If it’s the cause behind the Pembroke incident, then it’s a dangerous leech.”

“They are all dangerous, Andrew. Cruel intentions lined this beast’s whispers.”

“How can you be sure?”

“My intuition tells me that Howcroft wasn’t his only toy. Miss Ashbury reminded me that is poor soul in the West End who had been charmed to eat rats.”

“Miss Billow?” stated the lieutenant, glancing at a few of the more interesting notes in the folder. “Now that you mentioned it, I hadn’t seen her during patrol the last few nights.” It would be safe to say that the cold has been murder for everyone in the city. “She was looking rather rough though; rather sickly looking and dirtied from wondering the streets all that time.”

“Probably had been evicted from wherever she may have lived,” stated McCullum, standing up from the chair to stretch stiffened muscles. Andrew could see that the Priwen leader had changed clothes at some point in the night despite the blood spatter on the current vest. “On that note, I think this meeting is done for now. Get something warm in your belly and get some rest Mr. Woodbead; it will be needed.”

“Are you not going to join us for breakfast, sir?” The Irishman glared at Andrew discontent. It was a look that was becoming a familiar sight.

“No. I need to get these patrol rosters and reports taken care of and get some rest.” Looking away, McCullum walked over to the disheveled desk; picking up the folder filled with collected papers and books. 

“Well you best eat something soon, you look like shit,” huffed the lieutenant, walking towards the door after setting down the folder. “More for the boys then.”

“Don’t worry about me, just be ready for tonight,” calmly stated the Priwen leader without looking up from the paperwork. 

“Good day, sir.” Said the scarred brute while making his exit of the room. 

“Same as you, Mr. Andrew.” The Priwen leader's voice carried through the closing door as the lieutenant walked away.

_What are you hiding, Geoffrey?_ Thought the man as he returned to the rest of the Guard. 

“Oi, Woody,” called out Flint, “how’d it go with McCullum? Did he seem pissed at the news?”

“Beyond that,” said the brute as he sat down at the table. “The calm he was in was downright unnerving.”

“Really? Did someone steal his sword?” A chuckle rippled across the table.

“That would do it, but no.” Cutting off from a hard loaf of bread, the lieutenant dipped the piece in an occupied bowl of gruel before taking a bite. “Your leech isn’t the one McCullum is concerned about…”

 

Gasping for air as he woke, Geoffrey finds himself face down in the mess of papers on the desk. Feeling the stiffened neck as he raised from the unexpected slumber and the repeating dream that lived there. Looking towards the closed window, the dim glow around the shutters said that it was late in the afternoon. _What was I doing?_ Looking about, the log book was open with the Howcroft file exposed next to it. Pinned to the wall above the desk was a hand drawn map of London with names assigned to the different districts along with several side notes. Picking up the log book, the man could see there was the name, _Alwood J. Babcock,_ circled on the page with related times and dates found in the medical file. “What a strange name,” he said, scribbling down the name on a piece of paper, before folding it up to be placed in a vest pocket.

Stretching in the chair, the Priwen leader stood up and headed for the closed door. The sun was low enough, but still rather early for most of the Guard to wake for the night. The halls and courtyard were quiet for a change as the man stepped out in the brisk evening air. It was refreshing after the last two nights, but Geoffrey knew this was just a small breather before braving the next. Another night of hunting for Priwen, but to its leader, hunting took on a different aspect…

The cooing of hunger was growing deep in the Irishman’s core; stirring awake from the day’s slumber. With teeth gritting in response, the hunter pushed back the feeling by reminding himself there was more important things to do. With the breather done, McCullum returned to his room before the rest of the Guard risen for the night.

It was not long before the courtyard began to come to life again. Putting the last touches to the assignments, Geoffrey collected the equipment he needed for the night ahead. Insuring there was enough ammo for his revolver and the sword secured to its sheath, the hunter gathered the paperwork and left once again. Although working through it, the hunger still refuse to settle. You are not winning this time, he thought while walking towards the lively courtyard.

“Oi, McCullum,” called out a rather bundled up Cagney when the Priwen leader stepped out,

“Are you actually going to join us tonight?”

“Not now, Cagney,” called out the lieutenant, who held a canister to his lips, with a hot beverage steaming from its top.

“No,” said Geoffrey, looking down at his papers, “but with that remark, you will be joining me.”

“I won’t say no to hanging around here for the night, sir.”

“Don’t stretch your luck, Cagney. We got plenty to do tonight.” Waiting for the courtyard to quiet down, the hunter waited for everyone’s attention. “All right. As some of you may have heard, the number of infected Skals has dropped greatly in the last few weeks, and I am well aware of the lack of activity in some of the districts.” Taking in a deep breath to push down the gnawing in his gut, McCullum continued. “This is not the time to let your guard down. Yes, the epidemic is tapering off, but the leeches are still quite present in the city.” 

Walking about the courtyard, the Priwen leader handed out the assignments to each of the sergeants. “I have been informed about an unidentified leech showing up over by the Docks last night; having killed and drank the blood of one of its own. It should be treated no differently than the rest of the vermin.” A chill traveled up the man’s spine upon speaking those words.

“As for tonight, keep hunting for the leeches, but keep on the lookout for woman named Carina Bellow. Don’t approach her, and don’t be bloody obvious. Report back her whereabouts. If you don’t know who she is, just look for a ragged woman constantly searching for rats. Are there any questions?”

“Aye,” spoke up Flint, “would you like the head of that leech killer?”

“I want its head on a stick, Flint.” Keeping a straight face, Geoffrey could still feel the same chill from before. 

“You got it, sir.”

“If that is it, you are all dismissed. Be vigilant and stay safe out there.” McCullum waited for the nods and sounds of understanding before turning his attention to his lieutenant. “Woody, I need you to take Mr. Flint with you and check in on Miss Ashbury. When you are done, learn the whereabouts the Bellow woman as well as asking around about an Alwood J. Babcock.”

“Yes, sir,” stated the scarred brute, waving to his said partner as they made for the courtyard exit.

“As for you and I, Mr. Cagney,” said the hunter, glaring over at the bundled up guardsman, “we have an unannounced appointment with the Brotherhood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have wondered about reworking the story to had in Swansea, but I think I am at the point of no return! Perhaps I'll just keep the idea to the side for now.


	6. Wheel of Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things do not go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a fun time writing this chapter, I hope you all enjoy it!

 

 

It had been awhile since Geoffrey walked through the West End neighborhood. The air was damp with rain and a cold breeze. To the average human it’s the sort of lingering cold that no amount of layered clothes could block. For the hunter, the only inconvenience it brought now was having to act cold around his men. Keeping a scarf wrapped around his mouth and nose, most of the winter attire remained light under the thick overcoat.

The epidemic held little grip amongst London's upper class compared to other districts, but it still had its share of trouble with vampires.  Aside from the occasional stray Skal, most of the creatures were part of the elite social influences, claiming to do what is in the best interest of the Crown and country by running it from the shadows.  For Priwen, it was their biggest challenge when it came to dealing with the immortals.  The Guard still felt the sting of the failed ambush of the Ascalon Club and its cabinet of undead members.

“It’s a damn shame about the theatre,” stated Cagney as he and the hunter passed the boarded up building that once glowed with so many lights that it could be seen from several streets away.  After the events involving the actress turned undead embodiment of plague, Doris Fletcher, Priwen laid claim to it as a another headquarters for a brief time, but now it was nothing more than an obscured and burned out husk of its former glory.  “Was it true that the doctor left no one alive that night?”

“Aye, even left that Brotherhood coward, Swansea, to die,” stated McCullum as he recollected the memories of that discovery.

It was only part of the truth.  After waking up turned and realized what he had become, Geoffrey returned to the theatre and witness the aftermath of Reid's visit.  Bodies of dead guardsmen were scattered across every floor; Skals wondering in, feasting on their remains.  The hunter's gut turned, remembering how his new hunger became fueled by the rage, and blood, killing every Skal that crossed him in that forsaken place.

The blaze only happened a few nights later after McCullum came to terms with his condition and returned to the Guard.  He instructed a few trusted guardsmen to reclaim items of importance, and gather their dead comrades for a proper sendoff.  Leaving only the remains of the Skals and Swansea, the fire was set, made to look like an accident in the eyes of city authorities.

“Sir?”

Returning his attention back to the present, Geoffrey glanced over at the bundled up Priwen guard. “What is it?”

“That night at the Pembroke, when we apprehended the administrator.”  The hunter could smell the alcohol on the guardsman’s breath.  “What really happened?  With Reid that is.”

Looking over at the gunner, the man unsure how to answer such a question without spilling the full truth.  “The doctor was victorious, Mr. Cagney.”  Picking words carefully, McCullum began to sense something amiss before continuing.  “Despite the use of the ultraviolet lights and King Arthur’s blood, it did nothing for me by the end.”

“My God, you really drank that blood?”  A gagging sound could be heard in the guardsman’s throat.  “That had to have been disgusting.”

“That it was.”  Now thinking about it, the hunter realized he took a lot of sips of the blood during that encounter.  He was a fool to believe such stories.  “It helped only briefly, but that was it.”

“So the vampire doctor kicked your arse then?”  A snort of humor come from Cagney.  “And he didn’t kill you?”

“…No.”  He still couldn’t shake off the strange feeling he had.

“Not surprising.”

Geoffrey raised an eyebrow, curious as to what chilled man had to say.  “Why would you say that?” 

“Because that is what you would have wanted, sir.”  Slinging the shotgun to free his hands, the gunner held out his gloved hands.  “Now, I’m not siding with the doctor on this, but think about it.  He really was left with two options.”  Louis lifted up is left hand and continued.  “To let you live, and deal with the shame of defeat.”  He then lifted up the other hand.  “Or turn you into a leech.”

The thought made the hunter stomach turn and his dead heart stop for a moment.  It made him wonder more when put in that perspective.  Would Reid really go that far to be so cruel?  “What are you getting at, Louis?”

“You disappeared for a few days after that, sir.  Was it because you were that embarrassed or because of something more sinister?”

McCullum didn’t respond.  The hairs on his neck stood tall, the air around the men seem to change, and a heavy feeling came over his dead heart.  “I can’t answer that right now, Mr. Cagney; we are being watched.”  Looking about the darkened streets of the West End borough, the hunter focused his senses.  As they walked, the Priwen leader’s surroundings began to turn grey and became spotted with red beating vessels, glowing with life.

“Pfft, what a way to be dodgy, sir,” said the annoyed guard.  His muffled words were shadowed by blinding glow of his blood walking next to the Priwen leader.

Geoffrey clinched his teeth, turning his attention to the enhanced surroundings.  From one red glow to another, the man searched for any out of place.  Feeling the eyes; feeling the hunger, the hunter went off his recent habits, looking higher than the levels of brick and glass.  Searching the shingles of slate and clay the man soon spotted a faint heartbeat breaking from the silhouette of a nearby home’s rooftop.  Without hesitation, the hunter quickly pulled out the revolver and shot three rounds at the veiled figure without warning!

With the shots echoing through the street, the figure quickly disappeared from McCullum's sight.  _Damn!_

“Christ, McCullum!” scolded Cagney in a strong Irish accent, rubbing his ears to ease the ringing they now had.  “Warn me next time, for God's sake!  What the fuck were you shooting at?”

The hunter scanned the rooftop once again, pausing in hopes to see movement, but saw nothing alarming.  “Shadows, Mr. Cagney,” he said, placing the revolver back in its holster.  “Let’s keep moving.”  Forcing the vision to return to colors and detail, Geoffrey could still feel the hunger again as they continued along the cobblestone streets.

 

“What sort of bloody name is Alwood J. Babcock anyway?” asked the chilled Flint as he and the lieutenant find themselves on the main street of the West End neighborhood. “His parents must have been chewing on too many coca leaves.”

“It’s not a real name, Mr. Flint,” stated Andrew, adjusting the scarf around his neck.  “If it’s a leech, it is not uncommon for them to change their names once and awhile to remain anonymous.”  The same could be said for a human; the lieutenant seen it happen frequently at a time when his father was the leader of the Wet Boot Boys.  It wasn’t uncommon for a member to change names to keep a low profile from the law

“Aye, it’s just strange, that’s all.”

“That it is, Mr. Flint.” With their rifles at the low ready, the two guardsmen approached the only soul braving the damp cold night.

Stationed on a divide in the street stood a familiar face of the suffragette from the night before. Bundled up to her neck, Charlotte Ashbury looked over her stall; shuffling through the collection of subjected leaflets and pins while sipping on a hot cup of tea. It wasn’t until the two guardsmen were at her stand that she looked up. “Well, hello again lieutenant,” said the chipper woman. Her tan cheeks were red with cold. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“I wasn’t planning on it either, Miss Ashbury,” said Andrew, catching a glare from Flint. “Just-”

“-Following orders? That is no surprise, sir. Your leader wastes little time beating around the bush when it comes to hunting down these _leeches_ , as your lot likes to call them.” The young brunette tucked her hands under her arms. “And please, stop these formalities, call me Charlotte.”

“The name is Andrew, Miss Charlotte.” The lieutenant felt a nudge from his fellow guardsmen. “This here is Mr. Flint.”

“Don’t be handing out my name like that, Woody!” hissed the crack shot. “Her mother is a leech for God’s sake.”

“Don’t let my mother’s condition effect your judgement of me, Mr. Flint,” said the woman, sternly, rubbing her hands together for warmth. “So what do I owe the pleasure, gentlemen? Has Mr. McCullum consider my proposal, or did he just send you to check in on me?”

“What proposal?” asked Flint, looking to his lieutenant for an answer.

“Not sure, Flint.” Andrew wasn’t told much about the meeting from the night before. Perhaps McCullum was waiting for say something? “We were just sent to make sure you were all right. The commander has much of the guard on a high alert tonight.”

“I am quite a capable woman, Mr. Andrew, but I do appreciate the concern.”

“Well that’s good to know.” The lieutenant felt a cold chill a neck, forcing him to bring the scarf up his neck more. “With that said, perhaps you can help with-”

“-Finding someone?” There was a bit of an excitement in the woman’s voice.  “Let me guess, Miss Billow?”

The two guardsmen gave each other a look of surprise. “What do you of her whereabouts?”

“I haven’t seen her in quite a few days. Seen her with that Teasdale woman, who recently moved over by the Docks for some reason. That’s all I can tell you.”

“The Docks?” Andrew grunted at the thought of going near that place.

“Perhaps Tom knows something,” stated Flint.

“Tom knows a lot of things...” Tapping the barrel of the rifle, the scarred brute could feel the panic. Returning home was not part of the agenda.

“Lieutenant?” asked the concerned young suffragette. “Is something the matter?” “Nothing for you to be worried about, miss. The Billow lady isn’t the only person we are looking for. Does Alwood J. Babcock sound familiar to you?”

“I can’t say it does, sir. What a strange name.”

“Yes, we know. Has there been any peculiar characters in the area? Any new faces?”

“None that I can recall. The cold weather has chased most of the residents into the warmth of their homes so I haven’t really seen many folks this time of night.” Charlotte shuttered as a cold breeze came through.

“Perhaps you should do the same, miss,” suggested Andrew. “If we have to head to the Docks, we can at least get you home and out of this cold.” Flint glared at the man in distaste.

“An escort two nights in a row? Careful, lieutenant, Mr. Flint looks to be the jealous type.”

“You be quiet, woman,” scolded the guardsman.

“Calm yourself, Mr. Flint,” said the scarred brute. “McCullum wouldn’t want us to ruin whatever arrangement he has with Miss Charlotte.”

“That doesn’t give her the right to mock us, sir.” Flint stepped a few feet away from the stall, waiting for the lieutenant.

“Forgive him, he is still hot from last night’s activities.” Watching the woman gather her supplies, Andrew took queue to lead the small group back through the well-lit streets.

“No, I should be the one apologizing. That was rude of me.” Charlotte hurried up next to the lieutenant, but fell silent as they move forward.

 

The sounds of the bells echoed through the streets, letting the hunter and fellow guardsman know that they were getting closer to their destination.  It broke the silence the two men have been carrying since passing the theatre while providing some distraction. 

“Let us not draw too much attention, Mr. Louis,” stated Geoffrey, spotting the pair of Scotland Yard patrolmen a street over.  In a grunt of agreement, the bundled up guardsman followed his commander across the street to Temple Church stairs.

There wasn’t any signs of a break-in, but there was a notice on the main door to let worshippers know the church was temporarily closed for repairs.  Thankfully, this wasn’t the way the hunter needed to go.

The idea of dealing with the Brotherhood’s Primate had brewed in the Priwen leader’s mind since leaving headquarters.  There was no doubt the fortune teller will see what has happened to the hunter since their last meeting, during the early stages of the epidemic.  He recall it not going well.  Something involving William Marshal and the Disaster of 1666, trying to learn of the ancient vampire’s whereabouts.

This visit was for a different reason.  No, it wasn’t just to enquiry about the mysterious creature lurking in the shadows, but perhaps shed some light on the creature _he_ has become.  After the incident with the Ekon down by the Docks, and the Father Ryan’s crucifix not effecting him during the ambush at the Pembroke, Geoffrey had questions.

 Just behind the church, sets of stairs led down into its crypt and the men traverse down them before something froze the Irishman in place.  Blood.  The stairway reeked of it and the red glows began to flash in the man’s vision from the vault down below.

“Sir?” called Cagney from halfway down the stairs.  “Are you coming?”

Geoffrey’s gums throbbed, feeling the fangs protruding as the scent called to the hunger inside him.  “Stay up here, Cagney,” he said in a calm voice.  “Stand guard while I deal with Talltree.”

“Sir, there is no reason-”  Grasping the guardsman’s coat collar, the Priwen leader made eye contact with the man as he brought him in just inches from his face! 

**_“-I said stay here and stand guard, Cagney!”_**   Never had the hunter felt such a force behind his voice.  Releasing his grip, McCullum soon realized the mistake he made.

“Yes, sir,” said the strangely calm man, placing himself next to the mouth of the entrance.

_Shit…_   Geoffrey cursed himself for doing such a thing to one of his own men.  He didn’t even try to stop it.  _Damn this hunger!_ With a low rumble of disgust, the man hurried down the stairs, hoping the worst didn’t happen.

The space of the crypt was clearly disheveled, even in the dark, the hunter could see that there was a struggle.  Blood could be seen splattered across the stone walls and metal doors, but there was no body to be found.  The table the Primate usually sat in had some bloodstains, but his cards were missing.  _Where are you, Talltree?_   McCullum thought, looking around at the blood patterns. A trail could be seen going into one of the metal doors; a glowing red handprint could be seen on a single stone right next to its frame.  The blood was recent, a few days perhaps?  A soft drumming of a heartbeat soon caught the man’s attention.

Several yards away, beyond the closed door and stone wall, McCullum could see the source of the sound and blood as it enthralled his senses.  It was the Primate, he just knew it.  But how to get in?  Staring at the bloody handprint for a brief moment, the man placed a hand on the same stone, pushing against it before feeling the grind against the other stones as something triggered on the other side!

The metal door slowly creaked open towards the hunter, seeing a glow of candlelight as he peered in.  There was a rather open tunnel, lined with more stone and candles as he stepped in.  _A secret entrance to their library?_   The hunter knew of its existence, but never has he seen the Brotherhood’s collection in the flesh. 

After a few steps, the metal door slammed closed, its metallic sound echoing down the corridor before him!  He spotted the beating vessel of blood behind another door at the other end of the tunnel, but the way was clearly blocked by something rather large and circular.  Its flat surface shimmered in the candlelight as it seem to face down the pathway.  A buzzing sound soon followed, something Geoffrey recently became familiar with and it quickly alerted the man out of the grey haze.  Frantically looking at the walls, the hunter could see wires traveling down into the darkened end of the tunnel where the large object sat.  Before he could react, a bright light flooded the entire passageway!

“Argh!” cried the man.  The pain came in like a wall of a thousand daggers, dropping Geoffrey where he stood while the light singed the bared flesh of his face and hands!

“Do not think of us so lightly, vampire,” called a familiar voice from beyond the bright light.  “I should have known you would return to finish me off.”

“Talltree…!”  The hunter called out between the bouts of pain covering his body, trying to block the light from the exposed flesh.  “…It’s me… argh!  G-Geoffrey… McCullum…!”  He knew the ultraviolet lighting was painful for vampires, but to experience it first-hand?  He rather be beheaded!

There was a long silence.  “McCullum?”

“…Y-yes!”  He could feel the fangs digging, his teeth clinching so hard from the pain.  The buzzing sound quickly ceased and the tunnel became dark once again, sending a wave of relieve across the fallen man’s body.  Breathing heavily, the hunter remained grounded while the pain started to ease.

“Geoffrey McCullum…”  The voice moved from behind the large spot light, attaching itself to a dark skinned man.  His beard and turban shaped his silhouette while a pair of spectacles rested on the bridge of the man’s nose.  “Not the creature I was expecting, but a creature nonetheless!  The cards have been have a way of being misleading lately.”

“I am in no mood for your hocus pocus card games, Talltree…”  The hunter stood as more of the pain faded. 

“Are you here to torture me then?  Just like you did to poor Dr. Swansea?  To leave me to burn to ashes in a theatre?”  It didn’t surprise the Irishman that the Brotherhood knew of what really happened.  They had their share of watchers and spies as well.

“Swansea deserved what was coming for him!  Letting him die in our custody was the only regret…”  The doctor’s death was never the intention, but there was nothing that can fix that mistake now.  Brushing off the dust from his clothes, Geoffrey turned his attention to the wary Primate.  “I’m sure your cards didn’t reveal that outcome.”

“The cards knew Swansea was playing a dangerous game.  His eccentric and scientific mind did not allow him to heed my warnings.”  Taking a few slow steps closer, it became obvious to the hunter that the fortune teller had been injured recently; baring a mask to hide the pain.  “But this visit isn’t about the poor doctor.  The cards spoke of questions,” stated the Primate, still keeping a distance away, staring in awe at his visitor.  “What answers are you trying to seek now, Geoffrey?”

The smell of burnt flesh seeped into the scarf, forcing the man to pull it from healing burns on his face.  Exposed, the smell of blood intensified the throbbing ache of the hunger.  “Priwen is on a case of a nuisance of a leech.  Apart from mocking me, the coward has been causing a disturbance across the city.  Does the name Alwood J. Babcock mean anything to you?”

The fortune teller raised an eyebrow at the name.

“I know, it’s a rather strange name,” stated the hunter.

“Indeed.  Perhaps it’s the name of my mysterious aggressor?  Never thought I would see a _dragon_ in the city during these modern times.  Rather curious as to how he has eluded capture all these years.”

“It’s the Twentieth Century and you speak of dragons?”  Gliding his tongue across the sharp hardware of his mouth, McCullum fought to keep focus.  “You speak of the creature as though it has been dealt with before.”

“A vicious and corrupted vampire that needs to be dealt with, Geoffrey.  He has been feeding off the blood of mortals with a gluttonous appetite, consumed by power.  My predecessors, and even those of Priwen, spoke of such a creature appearing in the city from time to time.  Such a menace this one.”  The aging man picked up a candlestick, bringing its light to the hunter's pale and veined face as he got closer.  “I pray you do not become such a beast yourself.”

The hunter left out a growl, annoyed by the Primate's statement.  “For as much as I despise you and the Brotherhood, I have no intentions of feeding off humans.”  Fangs pinched the man's lips as he spoke. “I’d be damned for having such thoughts.”

“The same cannot be said for this dragon, for he had the intentions of murder.”  The Primate started walking towards the metal door, waving the hunter to follow.  “He did not take pleasure in the presence of my cross before fleeing.”

Walking towards the tunnel’s exit, McCullum stopped next to the fortune teller.  “What was he after?  Despite the cowards you are, not many leeches would dare openly attack the Brotherhood without reason.”

“Most likely the Stole of Saint Paul, itself.  Perhaps other relics as well.”

“Relics?  Like what?”

“That is something I don’t have to share.  You are of Priwen and now a vampire, Geoffrey.  But I will share is this: he did seem rather interested in King Arthur’s blood.”

_Why would a vampire be interested in that?_   The thought made the hunter recall the fateful night at the Pembroke once again.  “What of it?”

“The blood is in the possession of Priwen, Mr. McCullum.  You should know the reason why he seeks it, not I.”  The Primate continued walking down the corridor.

Leaving out a disgruntled rumble, the man could not think of probable reasons.  What was he missing?  “That brings me to my other questions.”  Following the older man, Geoffrey glared back at the spotlight; wondering if there was more to the Brotherhood than what Carl has told him all those years ago.  “Last night we crossed paths with a beast and one of our chaplains had used a crucifix to stun it.  I saw its holy light, but felt none of the effects when I stepped in front of it.  Why?”

Pausing at the door, Talltree looked over his shoulder at the hunter, taking a moment of thinking.  “Such a question cannot be answered, Mr. McCullum.  The effects of holy relics on vampires has been a subject of great debate for many years.”  The man pulled on a small lever, clanking sounds of metal echoed down the tunnel before the door began to open.  Cool air rushed in, carrying the city smell with it.  “Perhaps in time you will get an honest response.”  Standing by the opened door, the Primate waited for the hunter to exit.

The Irishman rumbled again as he stepped back out in the open floor of the crypt.  “What about bad blood then?”

“What do you mean?”  The fortune teller’s interest became piqued, standing at the opened door, waiting to hear more.

“When I was out… hunting, a vampire tried to drink my blood after I stopped him from killing a local woman.  He complained that he couldn’t stand its taste and nearly vomited it back out.”  The hunter could see the curiosity beyond the Primate’s spectacles.

“Interesting.  So since you had been turned, you have been consuming… vampire blood?”

“Yes.”  It hadn’t been easy.  Geoffrey could contain the hunger with his current diet, but it yearned for human blood during every waking hour.  “It was better the alternative.”

Stroking his beard, Talltree allowed a small grin crawl across his face as a thought passed through his mind.  “I would imagine drinking vampire blood regularly has its own list of effects, but so little is known about it.  Tell me, Geoffrey, do any of the old books that the Guard keep mention anything about a creature known as a _Nimrod?_ ”

McCullum fell silent.  Much of the information the Guard possessed was mostly about how to kill vampires, while other material, much like the knowledge of King Arthur’s blood, was destroyed over the years.  Perhaps there was something in that folder of notes?  “No, I can’t say I have.”

“A restless huntsman; a vampire that stalks and feeds off the blood of its own brethren.  They can blend among both mortals and immortals, making them very difficult to track down.”

“Has the Brotherhood ever encounter one?”

“No,” said the older man, allowing the door to close as he walked over to his favorite table with the single lit candle.  “Little is known of this mythical creature, but according to old interviews with elder vampires, they are far more loathed than Skals.”  Sitting down the light, the fortune teller pulled out a worn deck of cards from a pouch on his waist and began to shuffle it.

The hunter sneered at the Brotherhood leader’s choice of action.  “I must to know more.  This is not the time for parlor tricks…”  Walking to the table, the hunter watched as the Primate set down the deck and fan out the cards across the wooden surface, faced down.  The older man waited silently.  Disgruntled by the stillness, Geoffrey sighed.  “You are a thorn in my side…”  Reluctantly, the Priwen leader reached out and picked three random cards before the rest were quickly gathered up by other man.

“An immortal's fate is as interesting as it is delicate,” stated Talltree, watching the cards be revealed.  “Given your current circumstances, I wonder what the cards have to say about you.”

“My fate is my own, Primate.  These pictures mean nothing.”  With the cards facing up, the hunter observed the older man's inquisitive eyes examined the images.

“Interesting.”  Stroking his beard once again, the Primate contemplated on the words to say.  “The past weighs on you even now, Geoffrey.  What has happened cannot be undone, but…”  The fortune teller fell silent, staring at the last card with a bit more thought.  “…Letting go is the only way you will be able to move on.”

Raising an eyebrow, the Irishmen glanced at the cards again.  Before he had the opportunity to speak, the sound of a grown man in pain and a gunshot echoed through the crypt, grabbing the attention of both leaders!  “Shit!  Cagney!” stated the hunter as he instinctively shadow stepped his way up to the surface!

At the top of the crypt’s entrance, the Priwen leader found it unattended, but the fresh blood on the wall wrapped around his senses; drawing him to the glowing red trail as the rest of his vision turned grey once again!  “Cagney!” Geoffrey called out, following the blood as pounding heartbeats echoed louder in his ears. 

The trail soon led into a small side lane, barely lit from the nearby street lights. There the hunter spotted two heartbeats and their ribbons of blood intertwine one another in a single black mass.  Straining to regain normal vision, the man reached for the sword beneath his overcoat, preparing for whatever may happen as he approached.

With a very deep breath, the grey vision finally broke, allowing the Irishman to witness the horrid scene.  Before him, a limp body man, in torn Priwen attire, being embraced by a long haired figure in dark clothing!  “No!” cried the man, fangs bared as he charged at the creature without thinking.  “Get off him, beast!”  Raising the sword, the man swung at the exposed backside of the dark figure!

The strike never landed.  Before the sword was even done swinging, the figure vanished, dropping the Priwen guard in place.  Geoffrey’s blade nearly struck the falling limp body before a force crashed into him from behind; sending him flying across the cobbled street and into a cast iron light pole!  Bones cracked upon impact, the hunter’s breath knocked out of him before landing hard on the ground; stunned by the attack.

“Shame on you, hunter,” said a familiar raspy voice.  “Trying to take away my new toy before I even get the chance to play with it.”

McCullum glared up at the figure as he stepped into the light.  The creature’s clean-shaved face was translucent; veins trailing across its somewhat broad shape.  Blood stained his lips, its red color only matched by the menacing look of his beastly eyes, all framed by shoulder length locks of dark hair that seem to have come from another time.  The clothes he wore, although in the same tier of upper class appeal, was stained with blood far less recent than that of the limp Priwen guard. 

_A dragon_ , the hunter thought, recalling the meeting he just had with the Brotherhood Primate.  “You!  You bloody monster!”  With sword still in hand, the man stood and shadow jumped at the vampire; expecting the same result as before, but soon felt a force grasp tightly around his throat!  _What in God’s name!?  How is he moving so fast!?_   Geoffrey felt the ground disappear as the grip lifted him off the ground.  The sword soon fell as he try to break free from the hold.

“You are so weak, hunter!”  The creature smirked, baring the blood stained fangs as he pulled the struggling man closer, faces just inches from each other.  “Do you really think feeding off filthy Skals and pathetic Ekons would truly curve the hunger?  Or grant you such power?  Starving yourself of human blood because it makes you less of a monster?  Denying the fact that you _are_ a monster?”

“I-” choked out McCullum, “-am not a monster like you!”  Reaching for his the revolver, the man quickly shot a round, grazing the creature’s torso.  He was quickly relieved of the weapon by his unfazed captor; hearing a clunk of metal hit the ground.

“Oh, but you are!”  The creature paused for a moment, then a devilish grin stretched across his pale face.  “And I think I hear a meal coming!”  In a swift motion, the dragon used his free hand to tear away the hunter’s scarf, baring the pale flesh before sinking his blood stained teeth into a new victim!

A growl of pain escaped the Priwen leader’s lips; feeling what little blood he had start draining from his body.   _No!_ He thought, knowing exactly what the beast had in store for him.  _What a sick game you play, beast!_

“That is absolutely revolting!” stated the dark haired figure, wiping the blood from his lips, sickened by the blood as he dropped weakened hunter to the ground.  “Even rats taste better than what runs through your veins.”

McCullum clasped the wound on his neck, pulling himself to sit up against the light pole.  His whole body ached from the damage done, with the surge of hunger making it worse.  “What can I say?  I am a man of bad taste.”  The world turned grey once again as the man’s cynical remark was answered with a sharp punch to the face.

“That’s enough from you.  Perhaps I was wrong to think that you would be a fun toy to play games with.” scolded the creature, his voice muffled by the sound of heartbeats.  Insuring the hunter wasn’t going to make another move, the dragon strolled back to gather up the limp Priwen guard.  “Enjoy your first _real_ meal, hunter; for I have a new and better game to play…”  The two heartbeats quickly vanished into the city’s darkness.

“Cagney! No!”  Teeth gritting from pain, Geoffrey wrapped his arms around his torso as it filled up with knots of hunger with every deep breath he took.  The drumming of heartbeats pounded in the man’s head, his vision picking up on a fast approaching pair several yards away.  The Irishmen couldn’t even tell if it was Scotland Yard or Priwen, but he needed to get out of here.

With his vision being blurred from the hunger, and the pain in his abdomen, the man struggled to regain his footing; using the pole as a support.  The beating vessels of blood got closer and the hunter fell to his hands and feet upon trying to move.  Glancing up, the glow of living blood blinded Geoffrey, called to the unsated thirst he felt.  The sound of voices could be heard, but they were extremely muffled by the sound of heartbeats.

“Back away,” rumbled the Priwen leader, seeing the heartbeats of the shadowy figures stepping closer.  The muffled voices spoke, but ignored the man’s warning by reaching out with what looked to be a hand.  “I said back away!” he roared, lashing out at the dark figures with glowing ribbons of blood!

The voices yelled, but no words could not be made out as the figures reacted to the hunter’s actions.  McCullum watched as they started making gestures of reaching down for pistols on their waist, sending the hunter into an instinctive state.  Driven by adrenaline, by the rage and hunger within, the man got to his feet fast and lunged at glowing red vessels!  “Get away from me!”

Before any weapons could be drawn on him, Geoffrey grasped one of the dark masses by the throat, tossing the being across the lane, into a collection of trashcans and discarded boxes.  The hunger reaped his senses by the time attention fell on the other beating vessel.  Clasping the figure’s throat before it could flee, the hunter could sense the fear as the being’s ribbons of blood raced across the black mass, calling to him.  Hearing the chance of tone in the muffled voice before him, the hunter drew the pulsating blood closer, the hunger dancing its way to victory…

“Geoffrey! Don’t!” called out a deep, smooth voice that cut through the hunter’s muffled hearing!

For a moment, it startled McCullum out of the trance the hunger put him in.  Looking in the direction of the voice, the hunter saw another shadowy mass with ribbons of blood embodying it.  Taller than the other two, with a weaker glow of life was quickly approaching.  He recognized the voice, but the hunger was all he could think about as his attention returned to the being already in his possession, ready to bite into the red pulsing vessel.

“Stop!”  A cold hand wrapped around the Irishman’s throat, pulling him away from his potential prey, tossing him across the cobbled street.  “You will only regret it!”

Coming to a knee Geoffrey left out a beastly snarl, glaring at the intruding figure that stood between him and the answer to sating the awful hunger that is in control.  Baring his fangs, the hunter charged at the towering mass mindlessly!  The tall figure was quick; reaching down to the ground it picked up a familiar object and pointed at the hostile hunter rushing in for an attack! 

Following a flash of a spark, a loud metallic crack sound echoed down the darkened street, and for a moment, it felt as though time stopped for the hunter.  In that moment, color and detail returned to the Priwen leader’s sight as pain burst through his chest, stopping him in his tracks.  The shadowy figures soon gained faces, but there was only one that he recognized.  There, with the hunter’s very own revolver pointed at him, stood the doctor, with a finger on the trigger.

As the pain became too much, Geoffrey collapsed to the cold cobbled stones, grasping the smoking and bloody chest wound as his vision blurred once again.  _My God!_ He thought, realizing what almost happened as his sight and mind tunneled into darkness.  _God, please forgive me…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild doctor has appeared! xD
> 
> For those that are interested, the reading that Geoffrey got was of the "Past, Present, Future" tarot spread. The cards were as followed:  
> Past- Wheel of Fortune  
> Present- Six of Cups Reversed  
> Future- Death
> 
> Going to have to take some time to edit past chapters and work on the next one. So if I don't have anything up soon I wish you all Happy Holidays!


	7. Not So Welcomed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew has a gripe for a reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For returning readers, there has been some editing done on previous chapters. This chapter might be a bit rough and short atm, so I apologize for that.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy!

 

 

Some things never change.  The smell of fish, coal, and gunpowder.  Many walkways slick and moldy beams of wood; held together by rusting nails and bolts, hugging the shoreline of the Thames and its canals.  A maze to anyone not from the area, but to Andrew Woodbead?  The Docks were his backyard.  There were not many secrets he didn’t know about the area.

“Can we not try to draw too much attention here, Flint?” said the former soldier, keeping alert of everything around him as the two guards enter the main gates of the borough. 

“Still cringing about coming here, Woody?” stated a still annoyed crack-shot.  “Christ, let it go, that shit happened months ago.”

“You don’t understand, Flint.”  The lieutenant adjusted the cap and scarf to cover his face better as they walked.  “When I killed that gang member, the Wet Boot Boys didn’t see him for the creature he had become.  I practically had to flee for my life.”

 “You kill leeches for a living, sir.  How could a local gang of thugs possibly make you shake in your breeches?”

Andrew took a moment to ponder the comment.  “That is true, but the Boys tend to hold deep grudges, Mr. Flint.”  A shrill of a scream suddenly startled the men.  It was almost welcomed in the state of unease.  “You just had to call on the Devil, didn’t you?”  Nodding in the direction of the shriek before shuffling across the mildew planks towards it, rifle at the ready.

“Welcome home, Woody,” chuckled the crack-shot, cocking his rifle while following the lieutenant.

“This isn’t exactly the way I expected to be welcomed back!”  Woodbead huffed, turning a corner of a darken stretch of the docks.  “I fought in France...!”  Looking over the railing looking over the river, the man saw nothing below on its shore.  “… Witnessed a squadron of soldiers be slaughtered by a single bloodsucker…!”  Hearing the shriek again, farther down the waterfront, the brute with his crack-shot partner continued forward.  “… Only to be welcomed home…”  A form quickly appeared from the shadows of the nearby buildings, lurking about with the sure signs of a foul creature.  “… By more bloodsuckers!”  With rifle cocked and a steady stance, the lieutenant aimed it at the emerging beast, squeezing the trigger with great ease!

A loud, metallic ring echoed off the towering wood structured building as another shriek exploded, this time in pain.  The figure of a Skal lumbered towards the Priwen guards, grasping the blood gushing hole in its chest.  Angry gurgling sounds came from deformed being before it started charging at them in a frenzy!  Another ring of a gunshot sounded off as the beast’s head exploded dropping it lifeless body to the moldy beams of wood.  Looking over his shoulder, Andrew could see the smoke coming from Flint’s weapon.  “Well, what were you expecting?” stated the gunner.  “Flowers?  A pretty lass to lay perhaps?”

“It would have been a nice reprieve from the nightmares, Mr. Flint.”  The scarred soldier recalled that warm spring night he joined Priwen.  His term of service in the Great War was done; discharged all too ready to come home to see family and friends for the first time in years.  But the nightmares… they followed him back from the front lines. 

It was only a few short days later when Andrew found himself far from the Docks and wandering about the Whitechapel neighborhood aimlessly; regretting the actions that led that moment.  Marked as a traitor, the man couldn’t even trust to find refuge with the few people he knew in the other boroughs, since most of them had a hand in the gang somehow.  He was practically just another vagabond soldier; no job, no home, and shamed his family because of he killed an impending monster.

It wasn’t until he encounter another creature, but this time, it was engaged with a pair of well-armed men.  To Andrew, these soldier-like fighters had experience with such beasts; attacking the disfigured being with flames and rifles.  As he watched, the rifleman had a misstep and was quickly overtaken by the creature, knocked to the ground before being killed!  In that moment, before the monster could go after the remaining man, the scarred soldier took action; grabbing the dead man’s rifle and blowing its head off with the shot.

After meeting McCullum the first time, and learning about the secret fight in the city, Andrew secretly returned home. Wishing his family a farewell, the man started down a path of protecting humans, and hunting vampires.

The lieutenant sighed, tapping the metal of the dead man’s rifle as he turned his attention back to the fallen Skal.  “Perhaps just a pretty lass at this point.”  With a small huff of amusement, the scarred brute pushed the ragged and headless corpse around with his foot.

“Aye, thinking about that leech loving suffragette, lieutenant?”  Glaring at the guardsman, Andrew could almost see the smirk under the layers of clothes and facemask. 

“Very funny, you cheeky sod.”  With one last shove of the foot, the scarred man stepped away from the body.  “Besides, she is far out of my league.”

“You got that right.  No woman would want to see a mug like yours in the morning.”

“Shut it, you arse,” mocked the lieutenant, smacking his fellow guardsman in the back of the head.  “Or I’ll give you a mug that only your mum could love.”  Although, he did gain quite a few more scars since joining the Guard.  Too many close encounters with vampire claws.

“Aye, you’re lucky she isn’t around to hear you say that.  Don’t think I learn to shoot from my dad.”  The crack-shot threw a discarded ceramic cup and let a round of his rifle discharge.  The cup shattered; scattering across the mold and mildew of the pier.

Andrew chuckled at the sight, enjoying the distraction as they walked.  “What, is your mother Annie Oakley?”

“No, but I do remember meeting the lady when I was a just a lad.”  Flint started to reload his rifle.  “Just imagine having a woman like that in the Guard.”

“Aye, but we got stuck with you,” chuckled the lieutenant.

The crack shot huffed in amusement.  “Cheeky bastard.”

 

It did not take long for the pair of guards to reach the main hub of this part of the Docks.  Although well pass dusk, there was much activity going on.  Insuring his face was well covered, Andrew was quick to spot a few familiar faces of the Wet Boot Boys, as they walked through.  Keeping eyes on the cobbled street, the lieutenant slung the rifle across his back; approaching a familiar smell of food and gin coming from an even more familiar building with unique signage.  Although not the fanciest of pubs in the city, the Turquoise Turtle was indeed a well-respected establishment.  One of the few places that were considered neutral among the gangs, unions, and drunks.

“I’ll let you lead this one, Flint,” stated former soldier, letting the other man ahead, with a nod of agreement.

Stepping through the entrance, both Andrew and Flint were met with silence and glares by the patrons and staff alike; most were newer faces that neither men really knew.  The lieutenant shot a glance at his crack-shot, only to get a shrug in response.  “Oi, no funny business from your lot, Flint,” stated the deep toned barkeep.  An older man who seem to have done his share of time behind bars.  A pistol could be seen on his hip, clearly loaded.  “One drunk arsehole with a rifle was enough.”

“Aye, did Cagney overstay his welcome again, Tom?” asked Flint, peeling away the mask and scarf from his tired face; walking up to the bar with the lieutenant.

“He started commotion with a tenant that was passing through,” said Tom, crossing his arms, glaring at a concealed Andrew.  “Drunk off his ass he was.”

The scarred brute shook his head and rolled his eyes at the thought.  Looking about at the glares, the lieutenant felt comfortable to lower his scarf and take off the patrol hat when none of the eyes looked familiar.  “Apologies, Tom,” he said, seeing the shock in the barkeep’s face.  “We will look into dealing with that lush later.”

“My God-!” Tom lowered his voice and leaned across the bar.  “Andrew?”  Looking about, the older man remained silent until curious looks return to their bottles of gin and the familiar barmaid, Sabrina glanced a smile before returning to the tables.  “Are your mad!?  You got some real nerve to come back here.”

“I know,” said Andrew in a low tone, avoiding making eye contact with the pub patrons.  “Unfortunately, the Guard has business here that required my attention.”

“Well, what can I do to get you out of the Docks?  The Wet Boots have it out for you.” 

“We need information on some names, Tom.”  Tapping Flint to keep watch, Andrew continued.  “Have there been any women come through recently?  A Louise Teasdale or Carina Billow?”

“Teasdale?”  Scratching his beard, Tom thought about the name.  “It’s been a few nights, but I do recall a rough talking woman, with a scar on her face, coming through.  She did have a rather mousy companion with her.  Standoffish that one.  If that’s your woman, you might want to check with that Throgmorton fellow at Mr. Hampton’s night shelter-.”

“-Are you fucking joking me!?” interrupted Flint, who had been listening.  “Sir, you know damn well we can’t enter that place without permission from McCullum first.”

The lieutenant sighed, annoyed with the whole situation.  “That’s unfortunate,” he said.  It was true, Priwen could not infiltrate the shelter without probable cause.  Ever since the epidemic waned and the interference of the vampire doctor, the shelter was retained its purpose to help those in need.  Even if its saintly owner was now a Skal…  “I will have to pass it on to our commander.  Such things are far too… delicate for us to handle.”

“Suit yourself, Andrew,” stated Tom, returning to cleaning shot glasses.  “Now, mind leaving before the Wet Boots realize you are here?”

“Not yet,” stated the scarred brute, as he put the disguise back on.  “I got one more name.  Alwood J Babcock.  Yes, it’s strange, but I have to ask.”

“Babcock? Hmm… I can’t say it does.  Wait-.”  The barkeeper pulled out some sort of makeshift logbook from behind the bar.  “I nearly forgot.  The tenant, that Cagney harassed awhile back, left a note to pass on to you Priwen folk if I ever got the chance.”  The man paged through the book until a scribbled down comment caught his eye.   “Rather strange fellow that could have used a few drinks.”

“What does the note say?”  Rather odd that anyone would have such a note left for them, at such a place like the Turtle.

_“Beware the swords of seven.”_  

“Swords of seven?”  Andrew grunted angrily.  “I really hate riddles…”

“That’s what he wanted me to write, I didn’t ask why,” stated Tom, placing the logbook out of sight once again, whipping the spot on the bar with a washcloth.

“Did he at least have a name?”

“Just his first name.”  Tome picked up a glass and begain cleaning it.  “Fat chance that it will be much help, though.”

“What name did he use then?”  The lieutenant could feel his welcome starting to wear out.

“Jack.”

“Really now, Tom?”  Andrew left out a huff, stressed out about everything that was going on at this moment.  He even glance at the pub’s entrance a time or two.  “How many ‘Jacks’ come through your pub on a daily basis?”

“I can’t say, sir.  I supply food, drinks, and a friendly ear to those that pass through.  What names they give me is their choice.”

“Fine then.  You said he look like he could have used a few drinks, what did you mean?”

“Well, he seemed a gentleman; finely tailored suit, well groomed.  Dark haired fellow with a clean shave, but his skin… was damn near sickly for how pale it was.  Might have been close to your age I suppose.”  The barkeep picked up another one of his glasses to clean.  “Is there anything else you gentlemen need?  If not, please excuse yourself from this establishment.”

“No.  Just send my father my regards, and that I’m sorry for worrying him.”  Getting a nod from the barkeep before glancing at Flint with a sign that it was time to move on.  With one last wave good-bye, the lieutenant led the way out of the establishment.  “Good seeing ya, Tom.”

“Good luck, Andrew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I wanted to get next chapter started. But for now, I'm going to bed.


	8. The Doctor Is In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The doctor's prognosis on the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow sorry for the wait folks. Rather found the conversation between the hunter and the doctor hard to write between everything in life. Again everything is subjected to edits, so hopefully you enjoy regardless!

Chapter Eight

 

“Ian...?”  Geoffrey couldn’t believe it; his own brother stood before him, pale as a corpse with the familiar cold and deathly stare as their father’s.  The years flashed before the young man; after witnessing the horrifying deaths of his parents, being rescued and raised by the Priwen leader, Carl Eldritch, the hunter just assumed Ian was murdered as well.  “What cruel trick is this?”  With a crossbow in hand, the young guardsmen aimed at the creature.

Never had the young man given it a thought that his remaining kin ended up a vampire; forever stuck in the ageless shell of a brother Geoffrey once knew.  “You have gotten tall, Deartháir,” said familiar looking beast; a strange grin crawled across his face.  “Practically the same age as me when I became _this_ during my time in South Africa with Daid.”

“You are no longer the brother I use to know,” sneered Geoffrey, keeping a finger on the trigger.  His heart was racing now.  “You are nothing, but a beast that needs to be put down now.”

“Your words hurt me,” stated the creature, placing a hand over where his dead heart rested.  “This was a gift, don’t you see, Geoffrey?”

“Gift?  Your _gift_ cost several women’s lives in Whitechapel!”  The young Priwen guard was sent out to investigate recent murders involving local prostitutes.  To think, his own brother, the Ripper.

“And I painted the neighborhood with their tainted blood.”  Geoffrey could see the same madness and lack of remorse in the creature’s eyes, just like his father’s did all those years ago.  “I do what the whispers tell me to do, to appease this everlasting hunger by cleaning up such filth.”

“They did not deserve your judgement, leech.”  The young hunter tightened his grip on the crossbow, taking better aim at the creature before him.

“Leech?  Has Priwen really brainwashed you that much?”  The young looking beast started towards his brother; dark intentions drawn across his face.

“My throat would have torn out if it were not for them!”  Geoffrey slowly stepped back, maintaining distance.  He was taught well how to deal with vampires, but somehow ended up facing one alone.  “Y-you don’t scare me, Ian.”

“Still trying to be brave, little brother?” chuckled the vampire, picking up the pace.  “I can practically dance to your heartbeat!”

“Hold your tongue, leech!”  Clinching his teeth, the young hunter squeezed the trigger, sending a bolt flying at the beast!

The bolt sailed passed the grinning creature’s cheek as he jumped through a puff of black smoke; grasping the throat of his startled brother!  “Bravo for having the courage to shoot me, Geoffrey!”  Ian tightened his grip, choking the young hunter and forcing him to drop the crossbow.  “You are no better than me!”

“I am no monster!” choked the guardsman, struggling to break free.  He shouldn’t have hesitated, he shouldn’t have left the feelings flood his heart like that!

A mad chuckle escaped the vampire, bringing his lips to the hunter’s ear.  “I can change that, my dear brother,” he whispered.  “Neither of us will be alone and we can be a family again.”

“The Guard is my family!”  Geoffrey reached for the revolver on his hip, aiming the barrel at the creature’s face before squeezing the trigger and sending the metallic crack echoing through the surrounding streets!

 

Geoffrey's eyes shot open, blinded by the hunger as a cry of pain escaped his lips from a sharp jab in his chest; causing panic to erupt in the hunter.  A dark figure loomed over him, blocking a source of light as it stuck something sharp in the burning wound!  “W-what in God's name is going on!?” 

“Calm yourself, Geoffrey,” spoke a deep, smooth voice, coming from the hovering figure.  “This fit of yours is only making it worse.”

The panic soon turned in to rage.  “Reid!” howled the hunter as he lunged at the darkened being, hands grasping at where its throat would be.  Barely feeling pain, McCullum rose to his feet and pins the being to the nearest brick wall!  “Damn bloody leech!  You did this to me!”  Tightening his grip, the man drew closer to the figure’s face, drawn to the red glow as a growl let loose.

“Geoffrey-!” choked the doctor, gripping the hands around his throat. 

The hunger was screaming for him to feed.  Just as he was about to sink his fangs into Reid’s cold flesh, a sharp, intense pain caught the Irishman's breath.  Freeing the grip on the doctor's throat, Geoffrey staggered back, clinching the deep, burning wound on his bare chest; gasping for air as gravity forced the man's legs to buckle, dropping him to his hands and knees.  With every gasp, he began to cough up blood, staining the stone floor beneath him.

“Still such an ignorant bastard,” stated Reid as his voice started to get muffled.

“What are you jabbering on about, leech?”  McCullum’s body ached from both the hunger and the chest wound; struggling from completely collapsing in front of the blackened figure.

“You, of course.”  A set of cold fingers grasped the sides of Geoffrey's jaw.  “I had my suspicions, that I prayed were wrong,” said the doctor as he kneeled to the hunter's level; going through the motion of an examination.  “But now is not the time.”  The practitioner stood up, leaving out a sigh of disbelief.  “That bullet needs to come out.”

A cold hand touched McCullum’s shoulder; quickly recoiling as a growl escaped his throat.  The pain of the bullet jabbed him once again, stealing his voice.

“I see…” 

Consumed by such turmoil, the hunter could barely think.  Too angry with himself; angry at the doctor, his body in too much pain from the gunshot and hunger.  “Just kill me, beast!” he gasp, just wanting the misery to end.  “I didn’t want this!”  In all the while of dwelling in such despair, the hunter soon picked up a tantalizing scent.  Looking up, the shades of greys engulfed the man’s vision, except one thing.  Blood.  It glowed like a beacon stained in red as it flowed from a system of pulsing red veins of the darkened figure, as it dripped to the floor before him.  “What!?  No!”  He quickly looked away from the sight.  The last thing he wanted to do was give in to his hunger so easily.

“Please, Geoffrey, you must put this doubt aside and accept what has transpired,” said Reid.  “Think of your precious Guard; of London…”  The hunger screamed at the hunter again.  “…Think of Mr. Cagney…  They all need you right now.”

_Cagney…_   For a moment, Geoffrey remember the encounter with the dragon that attacked and took away the guardsman.  His home and family were in danger and here he was refusing the means in order to protect them.  Clinching his teeth, the hunter’s hand shook as he reached for the bleeding limb, pulling it close.  “This changes nothing, Reid…”  Feeling the fangs pinching, Geoffrey opened his mouth and bit down on the cold flesh the doctor’s wrist!

“I know –ah!” said the blackened figure, his voice whining as the pain from the bite set in.

Bloody tears filled the hunter’s eyes as he began to draw the blood into his throat, the hunger blissfully dancing in the core of his being while doing so.  The taste was potent; unlike the Ekon from the Docks, the doctor’s blood had power to it and McCullum could sense it.  The hunger forced him to bite deeper; despite to fill the void. 

“That’s enough!”  Reid’s voice was suddenly much clearer as he quickly ripped his arm from the hunter’s grasp.  “That should have been plenty.”

Geoffrey caught himself falling forward; one hand still grasping his chest with the other firmly placed on the stone floor.  His mind swimming with the strange ecstasy the doctor’s blood provided, the man’s thoughts and vision began to clear of the shades of grey as the red tears stained his cheeks.  The world around him was gaining its color back and the doctor’s darkened figure gained detail once again.  Not in his usual attire, Reid stood back and kept his sharp vampire eyes on the hunter.  “Admiring your handy work, leech?” he cough, feeling only the pains of the gunshot now.

“Not at all, hunter,” stated the bearded man; wiping the blood from his bared flesh.  “Now, are you quite finished with your fit?”

“Still playing doctor, Reid?”  The Irishman almost wanted to laugh at the conundrum he finds himself in.  “You are the worst sort.”

“And you are still playing hunter, Geoffrey.”  The dark haired man stepped forward, unhesitant of bringing the partly content hunter to his feet.  “We both live in our own paradoxes, Mr. McCullum.” 

“Where are we?”  Geoffrey asked, not recognizing the space, but noted it had the makings of a kitchen.  The doctor guided the man to a cleared off table, stained with what looked to be his blood.

“Safe,” said the doctor, sitting the hunter on the table.  “Please, lay down.”

With his head still spinning and chest hurting, the Irishman was not in the mood to argue.  He wanted the bullet out as much as he wanted to stake Reid in his dead heart.  Laying down, the man covered his eyes with his free arm, blocking the bright light that resigned overhead.  He could still taste the blood on his lips, licking them to keep moist in the surrounding dryness. 

“Now that we are settled,” stated the former surgeon, picking up a pair of forceps from a nearby counter.  “How did this come about?”

Geoffrey glared at the doctor with blood stained eyes.  “Is that a rhetorical question, Reid?  You did this, forced that… poison in me that night atop of the Pembroke.”

“I did nothing of the sort.  You were beaten and bruised, but well alive.”  Skillfully, the physician worked at the tender bullet wound, only getting mild flinches of pain from the hunter.  “You even threatened to kill me the next time we met.  Remember?”

“No, I do not.”  Trying to ignore the pain, McCullum clinched his fists each time the metal instrument poked around the swelled up area.

“Really?”  The bearded creature raised an eyebrow, fascinated by the answer.  “Then perhaps I can provide a rational explanation.”

“Speak up then, leech.  I am both intrigued and at your mercy.”  The hunter continued to twinge, waiting for a response.

“After our meeting in the cemetery, I gathered the remaining ingredients along with the vial of King Arthur’s blood you gave to me; to develop an antidote to deal with that Disaster creature.”  Reid paused for a moment, trying to guide the forceps without causing more pain to the hunter.  “After studying its properties, I learned that Arthur’s blood was that of a vampire.”

“What!?”  Geoffrey snapped, using his free arm to grasp the doctor’s shirt collar, he brought the bearded man face to face.  “Are you telling me that I was drinking vampire blood!?” he growled.

“Yes.”

“You’re lying.”

“It was still King Arthur’s blood, Geoffrey.  If it hadn’t been, the antidote wouldn’t have worked.”  With a twist of the forceps, the doctor irritated the wound hard, forcing the hunter to release his grip.

“Bloody hell!”  He didn’t want to believe it, but it would explain so much.  “What next, are you going to tell me Marshal was his progeny!?”

“No.  I promise you that is not the case.” 

“Then what is the case, doctor?”  McCullum could tell that Reid knew much more than what he led on.  “That I could be a bastard of a progeny to a vampire king?”

“Most likely.”  Reid grasped something solid with the forceps, pulling out the smoldering bullet from its host with little warning!  “Clearly you hadn’t the clue on its true origins.”

“Argh!” cried the hunter as intense pain radiated through his already tensed body, before suddenly ceasing to a dull discomfort.  “My god…” he wheeze heavily, both relieved and in disbelief while placing a hand over his tired face.

“Curious,” said the doctor while cringing at the smell that followed the bullet.  “Have you really only been feeding off vampire blood?”

“No, I recall a massacre of rats before I escaped the Pembroke.”  Rubbing his eyes, the man left his muscles relax for the first time in what felt like an eternity.  His body welcomed the moment of stillness.

“Such vile tasting little beasts.”  The dark bearded man placed the bullet in a glass vial before tucking it away in a nearby satchel.  “Although, I am quite sure they would taste better than the poison you got coursing through your veins.”

“You would not the first to speak of that, leech.”  The fact that his blood had gone vile saved Geoffrey from being completely drained during recent scuffles. 

“I see,” said Reid.  “Does the Guard know of your predicament?”

“No.”  McCullum sat up, scratching at the healing wound on his chest.  “I had about enough of your questions, doctor.  Time for you to answer mine.”

“Why am I not surprised?”  Unmoved by the man’s demand, the doctor began to gather up medical equipment and putting it in the satchel as well.

“Enough!  Those men I nearly killed, what of them?”

“Alive.  I… convinced the officers that there had been a scuffle with a few drunkards.  You were just an innocent bystander that got involved.”

_The damn leech charmed them!_   Geoffrey thought.  “And what about the dragon?  Did you see what direction that monster had gone with Cagney?”

“I recall two heartbeats fleeing towards the park, but nothing more.”

“Shit,” stated the hunter as he went to stand.  The hunger was quieted for now, and Geoffrey could feel the potency of the doctor's blood coursing through his body.  “I need to return to the Guard.”  The hunter looked around.  “My belongings, where are they?”

“In the room through the doorway,” stated the doctor, sitting down in a chair close by, looking at a folded up note.  “You will also find some clean clothes.”

With a slight nod of gratitude, the Irishman silently walked out of the enclosed room and into the main area of an abandoned kitchen.  Not surprising considering the present company, most vampires wouldn’t want a hunter to know where they truly resided.  “Tell me, leech,” he said, spotting a water basin with fresh water on a counter, a chair next to it with his overcoat and a folded shirt and vest.  “How long have you been back in London?”

“A few nights,” responded a slightly muffled voice from the enclosed room.  “Enough to know what you and the rest of the Guard has been devoting time into these passed weeks.”

“Really?  And yet you managed to avoid my men during this time?”  Looking about the Irishmen made sure there wasn’t anything suspicious at work.  Walking towards the items, he could see his sword and revolver resting on a worn out chest behind the chair.

“I have my means of travel, hunter.  Avoiding the Guard is less of a chore.”

A whiff of sewage crossed Geoffrey's senses, leaving him to wonder about how the posh doctor has the means of traversing the labyrinth of the sewers.  It’s one of the few places that the Priwen leader refuses to cull, fearing for of his men's safety.  As long as the filth remind in those tunnels, the Guard had little reason to go down there.  “You are walking into a cage full of rabid dogs.”

“Yes…  Between Priwen's dark list and Ascalon's threats, I am a fool; but my business is related to neither.”

There were very few reasons for the doctor to return to London.  The epidemic was ceasing and his redheaded friend had fled the city, leaving only what reminds of his cursed family.  Perhaps to finish off the rest?  Geoffrey scuffed at the thought, knowing all too well what the creature was capable of.  “You best hope I don’t need to get involved.”

“I do so already, Geoffrey.  But it is not me who you should be concerned with.”

The hunter stood in front of the water basin, cupping the water with his hands before splashing it in his face.  Watching the clear liquid turning pink from the blood, the man knew what the doctor spoke of is true.  “Once I have that dragon’s head, yours will be next.”  With a clean towel, he dried his face, getting more of the stains off.  “This truce will not last forever, Doctor Reid.”

“Then it would seem that I will have plenty of time.”  The doctor’s voice became louder as he came into the kitchen area, practically dressed to return to the dark streets outside, wearing trench coat with a satchel at his side.  “Even with this bit of help, I doubt you will be able to kill the beast in your current state.”  Reid placed a folded piece of paper on top of the clean clothes.  Before he could pull back, a damp hand grasp his wrist.

“What do you mean ‘in your current state’, doctor?” growled the hunter.

“That beast is most likely an older immortal, Geoffrey.  His power is not to be taken lightly.”  The bearded man pulled away his arm.  “If you plan to stick to this… _diet_ of yours, then find an alternative method to defeat him.  You can’t rely on brute strength and agility alone.”

“Why do I have the feeling you know more about of this beast than you are leading on, Reid?”  Picking up the wet washcloth, the man wiped away the dried blood that caked his scarred arms and torso.

“Perhaps, but I cannot prove anything.  That is more your area of expertise since I am not really… _here_.”

“Then it would be for the best if you to return to the shadows, leech.  I make no promises, but know that I owe you for tonight,” said the Irishmen, taking the hint that Reid didn’t wish to get any more involved in the current situation in London.

“Don’t you worry hunter.”  A wicked chuckle escaped the creature’s lips.  “A sample of your blood was payment enough.”

McCullum glared at the doctor as a growl escape his throat.  “You are the absolute worst, beast.” 

“I'm a scientist, Geoffrey.  Vampire or not, that is what I am.”  Looking about to make sure nothing seemed out of order, the doctor walked towards the door that led outside.  “The same could be said for you.” 

“Then you best watch yourself, Doctor Reid,” stated the hunter, as he grabbed the clean shirt.  “You will be damned if you try anything catastrophic with your cursed _experiments_.”

“Then I will count on you to be the first in the queue to take my head.”  The bearded man opened the door and stepped out.  “Until the next time, hunter,” said the creature before closing the door upon his exit.

_Damn leech,_ thought Geoffrey as he continued to dress himself in the clean clothes given to him.  As he went to grab the vest, the folded piece of paper fell to the floor, catching the man’s attention.  Picking it up, the hunter recognized the note as his own!  _What was Reid doing with this?_

Halfway putting the vest on, the Priwen leader decided to unfold the paper and see what the doctor may have left.  What he was saw was a small letter in Reid’s handwriting, reading:

 

_Geoffrey,_

_This paper had fallen out of the bloodstained vest when I was undressing your unconscious body.  Forgive my prying, but the name you had written down did not sit well with me.  Below I took the time to decipher its meaning.  I wish you well on your hunt._

_J.E. Reid_

 

Geoffrey scroll down to where he had the Babcock name written down.  Below his handwriting was more of the doctor’s scribbles.  Lines from the letters in Alwood J. Babcock were matched to a new name that had been written down.

_Jacob Blackwood?_   Thought the hunter, pondering where he seen the name once before.  “Blackwood?” he said out loud, finishing putting the vest on, hoping the sound of it would trigger a recollection.

Then it struck him.  “Damnit!” he cried, slamming his fist on the nearby countertop.  Without hesitation, the Priwen leader gathered the rest of his belongings, storming out of the abandoned building with great determination.  Seeing the sky was starting to lighten, the hunter had no time to run the streets; forcing him to the rooftops, shadow jumping across London’s skyline, racing the sun back to headquarters!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The doctor will be back later. On to writing the next chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> PS: Thanks again for the kudos and comments!


	9. The Seven of Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How will Andrew handle the truth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, this is subjected to editing. Thanks for reading so far!

Chapter Nine

 

The glow of morning reflected on the darkened windows of the surrounding dilapidated buildings.  With debris scattered about, Whitechapel never seems to escape from its tainted reputation, but still safer than the Docks for those like the lieutenant from the Guard of Priwen.  Although he didn’t grow up in this part of the city, he got to know its streets quite well in recent months.

“Not a very exciting night, don’t you think Woody?” said the tiring crack-shot, strolling down the district's main street next to his fellow guardsman.

“Did the leech close to the Turtle not entertain you enough?” state the scarred man, as he yawned.

Flint huffed in amusement.  “That is nothing, lieutenant.  You bore me to tears from walking around asking about a man with a false name.  I bet McCullum and Cagney had a more eventful night than what had.”

“Aye, because talking to the Brotherhood's Primate is far more exciting.  Talking to a rat would be more productive.” Andrew had met the Primate on an occasion or two since joining the Guard.  A peculiar man to say the least, but it’s no wonder some of the men believed he was a vampire.  Perhaps it was his clothing, or the cryptic use of fortune telling that gave them such a fantastic assumption, but it turned out false in the end.

“You may be right,” chuckled the guardsman.  “Secretive bastards.”

The two men reached the gate leading to the Guard’s headquarters; seeing that many of its members have already returned from their nightly patrols, lollygagging about the small courtyard.  Some had already discarded their gear in the armory room while others were being tended to by the resident medic.  A typical morning.

“Oi, lieutenant!” called out the familiar female voice of Locks, who was sitting at a bench with a canteen filled with something warm steaming from its top.  “I heard you and Mr. Flint had the pleasure of escorting that leech loving lass home last night.”

“What of it?  The woman was out in the middle of an empty street, bundled up to her neck.”  The scarred brute was amazed how fast word traveled amongst the men.  Flint rolled his eyes as he disappeared into the armory.  “Didn’t want her to be another victim to that crazed leech that has been roaming about.”

“She would probably welcome it.”  The woman tended to her canteen, sipping its warm content.

“That is true, but it may be in best interest to not mock her so openly, Miss Locks.”

“I don’t give a damn about those posh West-Enders and their schemes, lieutenant.  Especially those that associate with bloody leeches.  Whatever the commander has arranged with that lass is his business, but I am not about to bend a knee to her sort.”

Andrew chuckled.  “If that is your choice, Miss Lockes, then ignore what I said.”  He personally had little issue with Miss Ashbury, but he can understand the concern of the other guardsmen.  “Speaking of the commander.”  Looking around, the lieutenant did notice the lack of one presence.  “Has anyone seen him or Mr. Cagney return yet?”

“Not yet, sir,” stated Butch, who was cleaning his rifle next to Locks.  “Been waiting for Cagney so we can head out for a drink with the rest of the boys.”

“So no one bothered to check McCullum’s quarters?”

“The lights were out when we passed by his window on the way back here.”

“Really?”  It was odd to think that the commander wasn’t already in his room by now, making Andrew curious.  “Then it may be best that I double check.”

“Tell Louis to come find us at the pub if you see him.”  Putting his weapon back together, Butch walked into the armory room.

“Of course.  I may even join him.”  The scarred man could use a drink himself after all the walking.  Strapping the rifle to his back, the man made his way into the main building.

Inside, Andrew walked through the cluttered lounging area, taking in the familiar smell of old charcoal in the wood burner in the corner while heading into the narrow hallway lined with lockers and cabinets.  At the end of the hall was a slightly a jarred door with nothing more than darkness peering from it.  “McCullum?”  He called out while reaching for the doorknob.

Silence.

Pushing the door open, the glow of morning light peaked through the closed shutters of the windows was the only source of light that lieutenant had as he entered.  The room was rather chilly, but that was due to the smoldering embers in the fireplace.  “McCullum?” he called out again, only to get a response of silence.

Glancing around for a moment longer, Woodbead stopped in front of the fireplace, gendering t the wooden cross on the mantle while debating about starting a new fire.  While looking down in the pile of ashes, something caught the man’s attention.  Upon farther inspection of the contents of the smoldering fire, a rather large chunk of cloth sat at the edge of the blackened embers.  Picking it up, he noticed it looked to be belong to a vest, one of the commander’s vests; but it was clearly stained in blood!

Confused, the scarred man tried to recall if the commander had been injured recently to have so much blood spill on his clothing like this.  Remembering it wasn’t the first time seeing such a sight; recalling the Priwen leader changing out his attire.  Perhaps it wasn’t his blood at all?  Even then the dark liquid shouldn’t have made that much of a mess to have to burn clothes.  “What in God’s name is going on, Geoffrey?” he asked himself.

A loud bang erupted behind the lieutenant, startling him to turn around instinctively to see its cause.  Daylight filled the room as a figure sailed through an opened window, landing in a cloud of smoke on the floorboards, hearing metal hitting the surface as well.  In shock Andrew watched as the being quickly closed the shutters, blocking out the light once again; breathing heavily as it became dark once again.

As the smoke cleared, the man was able to make out who the figure was.  The coat looked familiar and a distinct sword laid on the floor nearby.  “Geoffrey…?” he said in confusion.

The figure suddenly turned his head to face the lieutenant.  The commander’s surprised face became even more recognizable as the burn marks quickly healed themselves.  “Andrew!?” he said, with shock lining his voice.

It became clear now.  Why didn’t he see it before?  Why did he ignore the signs!?  “No!” Andrew gasped pressed against the fireplace, both angry and terrified of the sight before him.  “Y-you… This whole fucking time!?”  The formal soldier pulled the rifle from his back and pointed it at his commander!

“Put that rifle down, Andrew-!” stated the Priwen leader as he walked towards the lieutenant.

“No!”  Woodbead cocked the rifle, well aware was at least one round still in the weapon.  “Stay back you damn beast!”  Keeping aim on the Irishman, the terrified man moved towards the door to the room.  “All these nights you hid in this damn office…  It was a bloody ruse!”  The monster was doing his own sort of _hunting_ when the rest of the Guard continued their normal business.  Filled with anger, feeling betrayed, Andrew squeezed the rifle trigger!

_Click!_

“Damnit!” stated the lieutenant while looking at the rifle, dropping his attention for a brief moment, only to be met with a quick blow of pain on the side of his head, dropping the man to the floor!  _No!_   He thought as his vision darkened. _Geoffrey, you traitorous beast!”_

 

Tending to his blade at the workbench, Geoffrey kept glancing over at his bed, cursing at himself.  The body of his trusted lieutenant laid motionlessly, a bloodied bruise began to form on the younger man’s temple, worrying the hunter that he may have struck the man too hard with the revolver.  Thankfully he could tell that the young man was well alive upon focusing on the steady heartbeat when he went to relieve the scared man of his effects; tucking away the belongings out of sight.

He was a fool to have returned to Priwen the way he did; racing against the rising sun, but so much time had already been wasted.  Finding the young lieutenant in his room upon arriving was not intended, but the sun was already burning the back of hunter’s neck by the time he reached Whitechapel, he did not have the choice.  No time to think about what to tell his men about losing Cagney, about the dragon.  If McCullum couldn’t get rid of the beast soon, he may be the one that Priwen will be after.  What was he to do?

_Leave the Guard_.  The thought passed through his mind once before.  When he first realized he had become a vampire, the hunter faced the choice, but chose to stay; hiding his new nature from his men, the people he considered to be family.  To lie to them for so long has proven it weigh down on the man, knowing the truth will be left out sooner or later.  But now?  The idea of leaving may be best for both the Guard, and for McCullum. 

Glancing over at bed again, Geoffrey knew it meant picking a successor to carry on the Guard’s purpose.  It would allow him to go his own way, fight the scourge of undead without burdening Priwen with such a stigma.  Regardless of good intentions, a vampire was a vampire in the eyes of the Guard, he was no different.

Feeling the morning sun baring down on him through the shutters, the Priwen leader feared to fall asleep with an unconscious guardsmen present.  If Andrew were to wake and the hunter was indisposed in slumber, he could end up waking to a stake in his freshly healed chest.  The man subconsciously rubbed at the spot atop his vest before finding a chair to rest in; propping his feet on a nearby table.  Getting comfortable, the Irishman made sure to be facing the resting lieutenant while crossing his arms to rest them.

The Priwen leader kept his eyes on the younger man as long as he could before they started to get heavy.  It was inevitable, he was falling asleep, but it was a risk that the hunter really has no choice but to take; praying in his thoughts that Andrew will not slay him on the spot…

 

The feeling of running into a brick wall head first wasn’t anywhere close to the pain that Andrew felt upon waking in an unfamiliar bed.  His vision was doubled as his eyes opened to a dimly lit room; the glow of a late day edged the closed shutters was enough to make the man twinge.  Rubbing his eyes, trying to remember what happened before blacking out.

_McCullum._

The lieutenant’s eyes widen as the alert returned to his aching mind.  Sitting up suddenly, Andrew rested a hand on the swollen spot on the side of his head, staining his fingers with blood.  “What in God’s name…?”  The former soldier’s vision focused slowly as he began to look about the dimly lit room, recalling what happened.  He entered the room, looking for his leader; only to be met with a horrifying sight.  Andrew’s eyes soon rested on an unmoved figure propped up in a chair with feet on a table.  It was McCullum; appearing more as a corpse than a human as he slept. 

“You… damn traitor…!”  Standing up, the lieutenant staggered in the direction of the revealed beast, disguised as the Guard’s leader.  Head pounding, the younger man caught himself from tripping to the floor; but eyes remained focused on the sleeping creature.  Reaching at his belt, the man quickly realized he was stripped of his arsenal; no pistol, no stakes; not even a blade.  Looking about, even the rifle was out of sight!  “You can’t be serious…” 

Thinking fast through the throbbing headache, Andrew scanned the room again, looking for anything that could be used to end the beast.  Spotting the cluttered workbench, the lieutenant saw McCullum’s trusted blade just lying there; cleaned and polished, gleaming in the dim lighting that filled the room.  Gritting his teeth, the scarred brute hurried over and grabbed the blade; feeling the weight that it really had; realizing how Geoffrey was able to wield the sword with such ease.  Grasping the worn hilt with both hands, the former soldier took in a deep breath and marched towards the sleeping creature; rising the blade over his head, swinging it at the throat of a man he thought he knew!

Just as the blade glazed the cold pale flesh of the sleeping Priwen leader, Andrew froze.  What was he doing?  He was about to kill another leech; pressing the blade against Geoffrey’s throat.  The betrayal alone should have been enough to fill the lieutenant with anger to cut down the creature, but what’s stopping him now?

“You’re hesitating, Mr. Woodbead,” stated a familiar voice, startling the scarred man to drop the blade to the floor.

“It’s hard to kill someone I once knew, Mr. McCullum,” Andrew scolded, stepping back, while keeping eyes on the stirring figure.  “Like putting down a pet dog that has gone rabid.”

“I know, it’s hard.”  The Priwen leader planted his feet on the floor, standing up to stretch.  “I made the same mistake with my brother Ian years ago.”

“Your brother?”  Andrew knew the commander had a deeply scared past, but the conversation never came up.  He honestly knew little of man’s real family.

“Aye, the beast would have killed me if I hadn’t shot him in the face to scare him off.  Carl helped me track down the creature to end his miserable existence.”  The Irishman stepped towards his lieutenant, only to reach down to pick up the blade.  “I still see the dead expression on that monster’s decapitated head.”

“I would have seen that same expression on yours if I hadn’t hesitated,” scolded Andrew, glaring at the pale figure before him. 

“That you would.  I expected you to treat me like any other leech.  I’m disappointed, but admittedly, I’m thankful you didn’t go through with it.”  The Priwen leader walked passed the unnerved lieutenant, placing the sword back on the workbench. 

“This goes everything the Guard stands for, Geoffrey!”  Not turning his back to his commander, the scarred brute kept an eye out for anything to defend himself.  “How could you have left this happen!?”

“That I cannot say.  Just know the fault is my own.”

“More secrets then?  Typical of you leeches.”  The lieutenant spotted a cross atop of the fire mantle, slowly he moved towards it, keeping his eyes on the turned back of the commander.  “How many lives have you taken, McCullum?  The epidemic way be on the decline, but people are still dying rather regularly.  Did you help that monster bring down that forsaken hospital too?”

“What?  No.”  The commander turned to face the man, just as Andrew reached for the cross and bared it before the creature!  The Irishman reacted with a sigh of relief, seemly unmoved by the crucifix’s presence.  “Put that cross away, Mr. Woodbead.  Its power won’t keep me at bay.”

“Lies!  Don’t be playing tricks with me you damn traitor!”  A force snatched the symbol from the man’s hand, watching the commander placing it next to the sword!

“This is not the time for a petty quarrel, Andrew.  Call me what you will, but there more pressing matters that need our attention.”  McCullum stepped towards the lieutenant, practically cornering the disarmed man.  “There is a mad leech on the loose and the bastard took Mr. Louis.”

“Cagney?”  The scarred brute nearly forgotten the two men had paired off the night before.  “Was that your fault as well?  Use him as some sort of bait?”

The Priwen leader left out a low growl.  “That was not the intention.  I had him stand watch while I met with the Brotherhood’s Primate.  The blood that stained the vault was driving me mad, I didn’t want to risk his safety or have him discover what I have become.”  The Irishman turned away from Woodbead; covering his face with a hand.  “I didn’t think the leech would have outright attack like that.  Hell the bastard almost had me kill two coppers for Christ’s sake!”

“And you expect me to believe what you say to be true, Geoffrey?”

“No.  But I had hoped you would be willing to help solve this one last matter before I part from the Guard for good.”

“What?”  Andrew suddenly felt his heart sink.  So caught up in the fact that the man before him was a vampire that he nearly forgot that McCullum was the driving force behind Priwen’s revitalization over the past months.  The idea of the Guard losing its commander would be a hard thought to swallow.

“I can’t lead the men this way, Mr. Woodbead.”  Geoffrey glared up from his hand; seemingly trying to control an urge.  “As you said, it goes against everything the Guard stands for.”

“Damn right it is,” stated the lieutenant, crossing his arms in disapproval.  “If I had a stake, I’d drive it through that treacherous cold heart of yours right now.” 

“I’m sure you would, lieutenant.”  The commander reached under the workbench and pulled out a canvas utility roll, packed with what looked to be items that belonged to the lieutenant, including the rifle tucked in the middle.  Without hesitation, the creature tossed it onto the table that occupied the center of the room.  “You had an empty shell lodged in the barrel.  Perhaps you should consider the crossbows the next time you try to shoot me.”

“Perhaps.”  Cautiously shuffling through his returned belongings, Andrew put everything back in their rightful places on his person; with an eye remaining on the unmoving creature.  “What scheme are you trying to pull here?  Giving back my effects so easily and what not?”

“I told you before, there are more pressing matters.  I don’t have time to for this squabble when there is a malicious beast roaming the city with one of our men, and I fear the worst.”  The commander approached the center able, laying out a folded up piece of paper.  “Does the name Blackwood mean anything to you, Andrew?  From our past readings down in the Vault?”

“Not particularly except from a note from one of Carl’s manual writings,” grunted the reluctant brute.  “Something about some vicious female leech that has a connection to that vampire knight, William Marshal.  Lady Blackwood I believe that was the name used.  Why?”

“Because I think there is a connection to the one we are dealing with now.  Perhaps a male counterpart that goes by the name of Jacob Blackwood.”

Looking down at the folded paper, Andrew picked it up and saw the scribble of lines sorting out the Babcock name into the Blackwood name whilst noticing another familiar name.  “For God’s sake, Reid is back in London now too!?”

“Never mind the vampire doctor, Woody.  He is of no concern at this time.” 

“He killed many of our men, don’t tell me to not be concern.”

“And I told you sods to steer clear of that beast.  He is mine to deal with.”

“Do you have any more surprises, Geoffrey?  More to add on to the list of reasons to end you?”

“Not for now, but I can’t guarantee the surprises end there.”  McCullum walked over to the wardrobe by the bed; changing out the vest that clearly was not his own.  “Tell me, have you learned anything from the investigation from last night?”

“Hard to say,” said Andrew as he rubbed at the bump on his head.  “If this Blackwood character is who you say he is, then he may have had stayed at the Turtle for a brief time as well.”

“The Turtle?”  The hunter glanced over at the lieutenant in surprise.  “I thought you were avoiding that area; why the change?”

“I really had little choice,” grunted the scared brute.  “According to Tom, the Billow woman may be staying at the night shelter.  Of course, as you know, Mr. Hampton does not really like the Guard poking about that haven of his.”  Despite the Sad Saint being turned into a Skal, Andrew still respected the man and all he has done for the lost souls in the Docks.  Although tabs were still kept on the beast’s actions.

“That creature takes in all forms of life, doesn’t he?”  The tone in the commander’s voice was more of pity than of anger.  Something quickly caught his attention while do up the last button on a clean vest.  “Don’t just stand outside the door Miss Ashbury,” he said in a rather annoyed voice, “you might as well come in.”

The door to the room squeaked open, leaving Andrew surprised at the sight.  There stood a familiar face in not so familiar clothing.  Dressing down in simple attire of an outing coat with a pair of matching breeches, along with laced up leather boots.  Her dark toned face lacking its usual amount of makeup.  “Miss Charlotte?” he asked, feeling the commander’s eyes narrow in on him.  “What are you doing back here?”

“I was beginning to grow concerned,” said the rather lively woman, closing the door before crossing her arms; observing the situation in front of her.  “My goodness, Mr. Andrew!  What happened to you?”

Both the lieutenant and the commander glanced at one another.  “A nasty morning wake up call,” said Woodbead, rubbing the bruised lump at his temple once again.

“I see,” said Charlotte, glaring at the Irishman.  “So it was only a matter of time, was it not Mr. McCullum?”

Andrew could hear a growl escape the hunter once again.  “How in God’s name did you even get in here, Miss Ashbury?  Was there no one at the gate?”

“Only that rough talking woman with a pistol; Lockes I believe was the name she gave me.  Gave me a hard time that one, but I told her that it was urgent.”

The hunter placed a hand over his face, leaving out a sigh of disbelief.  “Clearly my little chat from last night fell on deaf ears.  Damn sods are getting too relaxed.”

Pondering the words being said, the scarred brute glared at the dark skinned woman.  “You… knew he was a damn vampire this whole time?”

“Get off it, Mr. Woodbead,” scolded the woman.  “Mr. McCullum may have you and the rest of the Guard trained to spot the signs that betray a vampire, but my mother taught me well how to truly spot one.”

“Clearly.”  Feeling played, Andrew sat at the table and rested his aching head while listening to the conversation unfolding.

“What was so urgent that you return here Miss Ashbury?”  Crossing his arms, the Priwen leader looked as though he was not going to like the answer.

“A pair of patrolmen from Scotland Yard had been going door to door this morning, asking about a fight that broke out over by Temple Church last night,” said the suffragette, placing her hands on her hips.  “They seemed rather keen on you.”

“Me?”  Geoffrey furrowed his brow, looking annoyed.  “For what reason?”

“They claimed that you had been attacked by some drunken blokes from a local pub; they were trying to find the doctor that took you away.”  Charlotte looked the Irishmen up and down.  “You seem well now.”

“For now, but I have no time for such machinations.  The only concern I have right now is hunting down this Blackwood monster that has been terrorizing the city with his malicious games and for abducting one of our men.”

“Blackwood?” asked the woman, as though the name sounded familiar.  “I recall the name from a time when Mother told me to avoid such a character if I ever encounter him.  Who was the poor soul that was taken?”

“Louis Cagney, one of our gunners.”  The sound of regret could be heard in the commander’s voice.  “The beast attacked; taunted me with his poisoned words before disappearing with the limp sod; and I fear the worst.”

“That poor man!”  Charlotte put her hand to her mouth as a gasp of disbelief escaped her lips.  “Well, how you going to track down such a creature?”

“I need to return the place where that attack happened, and try to find a trail.  Then I’ll have to pay a visit to the night shelter for a little chat.”  The hunter looked over the workbench, deciding how to start the night.

“What?” stated Andrew, lifting his head from the table.  “Oh no, don’t think I am about to leave you out of my bloody sight now, McCullum.”  The lieutenant stood up, crossing his arms, about to refuse anything the Priwen leader might say to convince him otherwise.  “I’m going with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First part may be moved to previous chapter for flow purposes. Most likely when the next chapter is posted. Let me know if that would be a good move. Also sorry if it seemed rather dialogue heavy, but I'm hoping to have next installment with more action than chatting!


	10. Draughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The board is set and the pieces are being placed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Nice weather and other projects have been keeping me busy as of late. Not one of the cleanest chapters, but as usual, it is subject to be edited.

Chapter Ten

 

With his head still aching, Andrew made his way down the darkened hallway.  Walking towards the glow of the evening sun, the lieutenant’s mind raced with thoughts of what to say to the rest of the Guard gathering outside.  Absolutely furious with McCullum for the betrayal, he wanted to have the commander burned to ashes, just like every other vampire the Guard manages to capture.  But not now… not with a far worse beast still at large.

“Christ, Woody,” called a familiar voice in an alarming tone.  “What in God's name happened to the side of your head?”

Andrew glared over in the direction of the voice, seeing Flint sitting at a bench checking over his arsenal.  The crack-shot’s words jarred his aching head.  “I’m not sure Mr. Flint.”  The lieutenant rubbed his eyes once again.  “Quite honestly, I can’t remember,” he lied.

“Finally got some sense knock in that thick skull of yours about that leech loving lass?”

“Shut your mouth Mr. Flint, I am in no mood for your cheeky remarks.”  The sudden snap quickly quieted the crack-shot and those around him.  “We have more pressing matters.”  Stepping out into the middle of the courtyard, the lieutenant soon had several eyes on him.  “One of our own is missing.  Louis Cagney was abducted last night after he and McCullum were attacked.”

“And what of the commander?” asked Flint.

“Recovering.  It is of no surprise that he will not be joining us in the hunt, but know that he wants all of you to be bloody careful tonight.  The beast known as Jacob Blackwood is not a force to be taken lightly.”  Handing out notes to the team leads, Andrew struggled to keep silent about the beast within the headquarters, but soon thought about Miss Charlotte.  He feared that McCullum may harm her, and it was best not to have any funny business. 

A silence came over the courtyard as the squads looked over their instructions.  “Sir, these places have already been cleared of the vermin for quite some time,” said Lockes.  “Why the change?”

“The beast has come accustomed to our patrol patterns,” stated Woodbead.  “If we want to catch this bastard and get Cagney back, we need to change our current patterns.  Report back to me if you find anything suspicious.”

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes.  Be safe and be vigilant, my brothers and sisters.”  Without saying another word, Andrew returned back into the headquarters.

 

“I’m going with,” said the posh female voice.  Geoffrey looked up from the workbench, glaring at the dark skinned woman.  “Don’t give me that look Mr. McCullum.  Did you really believe I would stand on the sidelines?”

The hunter nearly chuckled.  “Have you a clue what most vampires are like?  They are constantly fighting the thirst for blood, and will practically do anything for it.  They are not all like your dear mother, or the doctor.”  Staring over his personalized arsenal, Geoffrey continued to pick out a few items to take with him for the hunt at hand.  “They are certainly nothing like me.”  Picking up the crucifix he ripped from Andrew’s grasp a short time ago, the man tucked it in a pocket of his coat liner.

“Why would a vampire need a cross?”  Curious, the woman stepped closer to have a look at the collection.

“Old habits I guess.”  Having a gander at the woman beside him, McCullum scanned the crowded workbench.  “Take this,” he said, picking up a sheathed dagger and handing it over.  “Careful not to touch the blade.  It is sharp, but coated as well with garlic extracts.”

“Really now Mr. McCullum, are you trying to kill yourself with your own collection?”  Charlotte took the blade, tucking it between her belt and coat.

“Believe me when I tell you this, Miss Ashbury.  I have tried.”  Geoffrey sighed before picking up a cache of bolts, attaching them to his own belt before unburying a dusty looking crossbow from among the table debris.  It was customized to fit the man’s forearm, using leather straps to secure it.  “After a few nights, I just stopped.  Learned to accept this curse and wield it in a way that I still have a purpose.”

“And still you hunt?”

“Aye.  That hasn’t changed.”

“Hmm.  I’m sure that it has made your line of work much easier then, correct?”

"The power still gives me shivers.”  The hunter placed the crossbow on his lesser dominant arm, strapping it to a comfortable tightness.  He noticed how much lighter the weapon has become.  It had been a good while since he has taken out for a patrol.  “If not for the hunger, I may have seen things differently.”

“Mother described it as unending.  A thirst that is never quenched.”

“It is maddening.  Something you never want to experience, Miss Ashbury.”

“Now you are starting to sound like Mother.”  The suffragette placed her hands on her hips, clearly annoyed by the response.

“The truth hurts.”  Placing a revolver on his hip, Geoffrey suddenly felt a familiar sensation brewing in his core.  “Let’s make our leave.”  With the trusted blade at hand, the Irishman escorted the woman and himself out of the room.

Down the hall, the pair met with the remaining member of the Guard, waiting for them in a rough looking lounge chair.  The scared brute played with his trusted rifle, clearly waiting for his commander.  Andrew kept a keen eye on the hunter upon entering.  “The men should be clear of the places as you instructed,” he said while standing up.  “Any funny business and I’m sure to have a stake ready for you.”

“I expect nothing less of you Andrew.”  Geoffrey led the trio out of the headquarters.  “Although, I only ask to leave the first leech we cross to me.”

 

The route to the Temple Church region of the West End was met with an odd silence.  Geoffrey really had nothing to say to his lieutenant, who was staring daggers at him, and couldn’t really discuss the case until they reached the destination.  Their female companion clearly felt the tension, but kept close to Andrew as they both walked a few paces behind the hunter.  He was okay with this. 

Allowing his senses to focus, the Priwen leader could see the bloom of glowing red vessels surround them.  While heartbeats of his company were the strongest, Geoffrey did his best to ignore them as they continued on their way.  They were not to be food, but the hunger within did not discriminate regardless.

“Mr. McCullum?”  Miss Ashbury’s voice was laced with concern. 

The hunter returned from his focus and turned his attention to the company behind him.  “What is it?”

“You say that Priwen doesn’t kill humans, yes?”

“That would be correct, miss.  Why do you ask?”

“Having been turned, has that philosophy… carried over?”

Geoffrey locked eyes with his lieutenant when he spotted the scar brute reach for a stake.  “You can say that.  I still hunt down leeches, but now it serves a dual purpose as of late.”

“You feed on other vampires?!” stated Andrew.  The look of disgust crawled across his face.

“Yes.  I’m not proud of the way I’ve been dealing with this affliction, but it is how I wield it for the better.”  Upon waiting for the lieutenant to withdraw from grabbing the stake, McCullum returned his attention to the path before them.  “I haven’t taken a human life, but that may not always be the case.”  The epidemic was waning already and he knew hunting would be harder to do within the city.  “I can only play off this façade for so long.”

“You got that right,” snorted Woodbead.  “Enough of the chit-chat.  Let’s just get this over with.”

“That we can agree on.”  Geoffrey was feeling the agitation of the hunger.  The last thing he wanted was to snap at the scarred brute and get a stake in the heart. 

It wasn’t until they reached one of the few remaining quarantine gates that the hunter picked up on an unnatural presence.  Among the several glowing red vessels, one appeared dimmer, with a much lower heart rate.  Given the erratic behavior, and its isolation within a nearby ally way, it was clear that this heartbeat belonged to a Skal.  With the hunger seemingly dancing to triggered senses, Geoffrey instinctively vanished towards the creature’s location, leaving his company behind.

 

“McCullum!” called out Andrew.  The sudden disappearance caused the scared man to raise his rifle and was about give chase to his afflicted commander before a hand grabbed his arm.

“Wait!” stated Charlotte.  Pulling on the brute’s arm she wrapped her much slender limb around it and ushered the lieutenant towards the Temple Church area.  “It would be best if we continued without him.”

“Are you mad, woman?  The man is a beast, and he clearly given into that forsaken hunger.”

“And were you not paying attention to what he said?  I doubt it was a human he spotted.  Allow him to appease his thirst.”

“You have far too much trust in these leeches, Miss Charlotte.  Don’t you fear them?”

“Only the hungry ones.  I’m sure you don’t want to accidently become Mr. McCullum's next meal correct?”

Andrew glared down at the woman’s concerned eyes.  Their dark color made the man think of star-filled nights he witnessed in France, when the sky wasn’t clouded by gun smoke and gases.  Those were some serene moments that he cherished.  “No, I guess not.”  The lieutenant gritted his teeth.  He pondered Charlotte’s words, realizing he was being swayed from such a critical decision.  “Let’s hope he find us after he is done.”

 

Leaning against a brick wall, plagued with flu and war prints, Geoffrey drowned in the ecstasy that the hunger constantly has him chase.  A drained Skal laid at his feet, its blood staining the man face, caking in his beard.  The beast did not go down without a fight, but it certainly was no match for the skilled hunter.

Glaring down at the corpse, the Priwen leader’s thoughts cleared, refreshed from the meal as he pondered the conversation he shared with the doctor from the night before.  “An alternative method…”  The man knew feeding on the beasts was never going to be enough.  “Damn you, Reid.”  For once the doctor was right.  Looking down as his arsenal, it was a reminder that the man was a hunter.  Even when he was human, Geoffrey was good at his job.  So good, that he put up a hell of a fight with a powerful new born Ekon.

But he was no longer human.  The Irishman glanced back over at the corpse once again while wiping away the blood from his face.  Over the past several weeks it has been made clear that even though he was the very monster he swore to destroy, Geoffrey was still a hunter…  A much stronger hunter.  “I’ll be damned if allow this affliction to control me,” he stated before crushing the skull of the corpse beneath his boot, ensuring the creature will not rise again.

Staring up towards the surrounding rooftops, the hunter calculated his move to higher ground.  In a matter of seconds, he shadow jumped from a nearby wooden fence, escalating towards the rooftops across several protruding windowsills; avoiding a few laundry lines along the way.  Clear of the brick stone maze below, McCullum finds himself in a landscape of smoking chimneys and slate shingles, looking in the direction of where he needed to head.  The ringing of the bells for the evening mass triggered the hunter to follow the harmonious sound, knowing where to find the party he abruptly left.

 

The silence of the Temple Church the night before seemed rather disrupted upon Geoffrey’s arrival.  A handful of locals were hurrying along the cobblestone streets during the dying evening, while a pair of Scotland Yard officers spoke amongst each other.  From the rooftops, the hunter could hear the conversation clearly.

“Don’t you think Albright is taking these murders a bit too far?” said a rather stout looking man with a rather redden face.  “He still can’t believe that we left an injured man be taken away by some random passing doctor.”  Geoffrey felt a knot in his gut, realizing these were the men he nearly killed.

“Aye.  It did seem rather strange for a doctor to be walking the streets at such an hour, but his words were so damn convincing.” A shorter man with a tuff of blonde hair spoke.  “If we had noticed all the blood on the street beforehand, we wouldn’t be here looking for a possible murderous doctor or a dead man.” 

 _Blood?_   The hunter pondered the thought.  He recalled much of it when encountering Blackwood tearing into Cagney’s throat.  _A rather messy eater, that dragon_.  Scratching at the hairs on his face, McCullum continued the track towards to the crime scene. Despite the well-lit streets below, the rooftops remained dark; well out of human sight as he found himself a top the Temple Church.  As he went to jump to a nearby rooftop, he spotted a familiar figure exiting the church’s vault.  _Talltree?_   Ensuring none of the officers were in the vicinity, Geoffrey leapt down to the street below, silently landing nearby as the primate casually walked in the direction of his home.

“I see you are allowing the path to clear now, Geoffrey,” stated the bearded man, a glare of light across his glasses, turning to look at the arrived hunter.

“How strange of you to be crawling out of your hole at this hour,” stated the gruff Irishman while approaching the spectacled Sikh.  “Reading into your parlor tricks again?”

“Perhaps.  They warn me of a betrayal tonight so I felt it would be safer to return home.”

“A betrayal you say?”  Crossing arms, the hunter narrowed his eyes on the Brotherhood leader.  “How do you get something like that from a few picture cards?”

“I don’t expect you to understand my methods, Geoffrey.  Just know the cards know the truth, even if they are hard to read.”  The primate could see the transfixed expression on pale man’s face.  “The epidemic and the war may be over, but the river is still flowing red, Geoffrey.  London is still under threat and will remain that way unless something is done about it.”

“Are you speaking of the dragon?  I will have that beast’s head soon enough.”

“Caution, Mr. McCullum.  This beast will not bend a knee so easily.”  Talltree started walking off once again.  “I can only wish you luck on your hunt.”

Raising an eyebrow, the hunter watched the bearded man walk away.  “You don’t seem so keen on protecting this beast.”

“The Brotherhood does not tolerate such furious creatures, Geoffrey,” said the primate as he marched on.  “We have our methods to deal with such a beast, and the Guard has theirs.”

 Waiting for the Brotherhood leader to disappear around a corner of the church, McCullum huffed at the notion of the Stole brothers and the Guard agreeing on such a matter.  _Let us just see who will get the beast first then,_ he thought before returning to the rooftops.

It was not long before the hunter returned to the familiar small street.  The scene was almost the same.  The trach can was still in disarray, and a rather renowned dent in the iron cast streetlight.  What was not familiar was the presence of Scotland Yard.  Particularly a detective inspector well known to the Guard, Charles Albright.  For once the inspector was not alone, for he was questioning a couple, Geoffrey could hear his own name being spoken.  The couple was none other than war-torn lieutenant, Andrew Woodbead, and a well-spoken suffragette, Charlotte Ashbury.

“So neither of you know of Mr. McCullum’s whereabouts?” asked the inspector.

“No, sir,” answered the Priwen lieutenant.  “As I said, he gives the men orders and tends to more pressing matters around the city.  At times he will check in with the patrols.”

“But he seemed well this evening?”

“A bit pale and rather peckish, but overall seemed well.  I don’t know what to say about his whereabouts of last night.  I had been down by the docks.”

“I see.  Then may I ask why you and Miss Charlotte chose to come down this particular street tonight?”

“Curiosity, inspector, why else?” stated the young suffragette.  “Having your men come knocking on my door in the wee hours of the morning, it must have been quite the scene today.”

“This area is still under investigation, miss.  I can’t allow either of you to pass through at this time.”

 _Damn,_ thought Geoffrey.  He needed to have a closer look at the scene, but Albright’s presence was preventing him from doing so.  The hunter had to think of something quick if he wanted to continue his search for Blackwood.  Glancing about his surroundings, the man pointed a loaded crossbow at a narrow alley a few yards away from the chatting trio.  Squeezing the trigger, a bolt went flying into the darken space between the buildings.  A loud crash of glass and metal could be heard, raising the Priwen leader’s hopes of causing a distraction.

“What was that!?” stated the inspector, turning his attention to the alleyway.  “Stay put while I have a look.”

Watching the officer step away, McCullum took the chance, leaping down to the street below.  In the corner of his vision, the sudden movement came from the war-torn lieutenant.  With a rifle pointing at him, the hunter signaled the guard to stand down.  The woman at his side pushed down on the rifle; coaxing the wary brute to play along.

With no time to lose, the Irishman glanced about the crime scene.  Much he could vaguely recall from the night before, but that wasn’t what he was concerned about.  Focusing in on vampire senses, the world went gray and the glow of red vessels engulfed his vision.  Looking among the cobblestones where Cagney was dropped, an old puddle of blood gave off a dim glow as it trailed down the street, towards the park, just as the doctor claimed.  Returning back to the normal vision, Geoffrey glanced towards the pair, signaling them to follow, vanishing down the street before the detective inspector returned from the disturbed alleyway.

 

Standing before a gate leading into the Temple Gardens Park, the hunter used his vampire senses to scan the area nearby, waiting for the rest of his party to catch up to him.  The trail of blood cut straight through the eerily quiet park, baring the signs of a hasty retreat.  _Why kidnap a dying man?_ thought Geoffrey.  What exactly did Blackwood mean by a “new and better game to play”?  These thoughts haunted the man; worrying him of the worst case scenario.  Gritting his teeth, the hunter pushed such a thought out of his mind. 

“McCullum!” called out a familiar voice.  “There you are.”

Turning to the call of his name, the Priwen leader watched as a familiar pair come walking from a different street than what he had taken.  The scarred brute had murder written all over his face.  Displeased with what had happen.  His suffragette companion was less hostile and more concerned looking.  _“A bit pale and rather peckish?”_ repeated Geoffrey.  “Really now, Andrew.  I’m not sure whether to be amused or offended by such mockery.”

“Aye, you heard that?” grunted the lieutenant with a devious smirk.  “Good.  Just be glad that was all I had to say to Albright.”

“That I am.”  Walking through the open gate to the park, McCullum could feel Andrew’s staring daggers in the back of his neck once again.  He was well aware of the distrust the brute displayed, and wasn’t even going to attempt swaying the man.  “Cagney was bleeding greatly as Blackwood carried him off.  The blood trail leads through here.”

“How can you tell its Cagney’s blood?” asked Andrew, following at a safe distance.

“The smell of alcohol still lingers.”

“Mother has told me once that vampires could detect such illnesses in the blood,” chimed in Charlotte.  “I can only imagine how it really works.”

“Aye.  Mr. Louis’ blood was flowing rather thin before the attack,” stated Geoffrey as he kept an eye out for more blood.  “It’s a damn shame he left the bottle get the better of him.”

“That it is,” said the scarred brute, his free arm occupied by the dark skinned woman’s grasp.  “Do you know if he is even alive?”

“I don’t.  But I am not about to let one of own be treated in such a manner, whether if he be dead or alive.”  Well into the heart of the park, the Priwen leader spotted another sizable collection of blood hidden among the bushes, out of sight of daylight traffic.  “Looks like they stopped here for a moment.”  Kneeling beside the blood, the man examined the area directly around it.  A glint of metal caught his attention.  Reaching for the bloodied object, a new smell soon ascended to the senses.

“Oi.  That looks like Louis’ flask,” said Andrew, having a gander of the bloody scene.

Geoffrey looked over the metallic container.  A bloody handprint stained its surface, while more of the red fluid could be seen on the lip of the exposed opening.  “This isn’t his blood,” he said, bringing the opened flack closer for a sniff.  “It reeks of leech.”  Hearing some liquid still inside, the hunter tipped the container over to empty it.  That too was red with blood, mixed with whatever alcohol was left in it.  “No…”  A flashback to the night atop of the Pembroke sent a chill down the hunter’s spine.  _No, not Cagney!_

“What is it?” asked Charlotte, curious of McCullum’s tone of voice.

The Priwen leader glared at the bloodied flask, fighting off the urge to go into a fit of rage.  A growl escaped the hunter’s throat as he stood up.  “A new game has begun.”


End file.
